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PHYSICIAN'S VACATION ; 



OR, 



A SUMMER m EUROPE. 



y 



BY ^V ALTER CHANNING 



" For so to interpose a little ease." — Milton. 




BOSTON: 
TIOKNOR AND FIELDS 

M PCCC LVI. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by 

Walter Channing, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the D. strict of Massachusetts. 



CAMEEIDC-E *. THOKSTON AND TORRT, PRISTERS. 



CONTENTS. 



Route, Page 1. Life at Sea, 2. Hotel Life, Abroad, 28. Railway, 36. 
Expenses, 54. Luggage, 58. American Abroad, 68. Rank, 70. 
News, 75. Paris Talk, 80. Acknowledgments, 83. Why the " Vaca- 
tion," 87. 

JOURNAL. 

England. Leaving London, 90. CliflFs of Dover, ib. Calais, 94. St. 
Omers, 100. Brussels, 106. Cologne, 111. Hamburg, 113. Ber- 
lin, 122. Stettin, 137. Baltic, 153. 

Russia, 159. Cronstadt, ib. St. Petersburg, 160. Churches, 174. 
Admiralty, 189. Nevskoi Prospect, 181. Summer Islands, 182. 
Sir James Wiley, 185. Summer Garden, 193. Bohemian Gii'ls, 195. 
Samovar, ib. Moscow, 196. Incidents, 201. Prof. Fischer, 203. 
Museum, 204. Kremlin, 205. Funeral, 220. Russian Restaurant, 
ib. Military Hospitals, 221. Dinner at Prof. Fischer's, 225. Leave 
Moscow, 227. Russian Villages, 231. St. Petersburg, return to, 
231. Convent of St. Alexander Nevskoi, 232. Peterhoff, 234. The 
Pilgrim, 244. Young America, 245. Hermitage, 253. Museum, 
256. Alexandrosky, 258. System of Remount, 259. Military and 
other Hospitals, 261 to 264. Cholera, 267. The Czar, 269. Gov- 
ernment, 271. Serf, 276. Anecdote, 279. Church, 280. Censor- 
ship. 281. Quas, 285. Social Life, 288. Cronstadt Visited, 292. 

Denmark, 292. Copenhagen, 293. Palace, 296. Museum of Northern 
Antiquities, 300. Market, ib. Museum of Thorwaldsen, 303. His 
Grave, 307. St. John's Cathedral, 308. A Dinner, 310. A Drive, 
314. Hospitals, 318. Soil-Culture, 322. Danish Fleet, 323. 

Duchy of Holstein. Kiel, 324. Mohen, ib. Anecdote, 325. Cate- 
chism, 326. 

Prussia. Wittenburg, 329. Fellow Passengers, 330. Magdeburg, 
331. Coethen, 332. 

Saxony. Leipzic, 333. Dresden, 338. Route to Vienna, 345. Elbe, 
345. Mountains, 346. Rocks, ib. Konigstein, 347. 

Austria. Vienna, 352. Danube, 358. Steamer, Fellow Passengers, 
362. Grain, 364. Lintz, 367. Gmoonden, 368. Ischl, 372. HoflF, 
877. Salzburg, 379. 



IV C0NTE2s'TS. 

Bavaria. Munich, 383. Gallery, ib. Palace, 384. Basilica, 386. 
St. Mary's, 387. Hall of Fame, 388. 

WuBTEMBERG. Stutgarcl, 391. 

Baden, 392. Heidelberg, ib. Castle, 394. University, 395. Duels, 
397. Table d'llote, 400. Talk, 401. Manheim, 414. 

Feankfurt on tue jNIaine, 402. Rohllers, ib. Danniker's Ariadne, 
403. Goethe, 404. Lewes' Life of Goethe, 405. 

Prussia. Coblentz, 406. The Rhine, 408. Ehrenbreitstein, 410. 

Victoria's Seat, 411. 

France. Strasbui-g, 421. Cathedral, ib. Temple of St. Thomas, 425. 
Rachel, 427. Buying Wood, 428. Dogs, 429. Paris, 430. Made- 
leine, 431. Champs Elysees, 433. Hospital of Invalids, 435. 
National Circus, 438. American- Legation, 441. Notre Dame, 442. 
Garden of Plants, 444. Louvre, 445. Military Stable, 451. Cham- 
ber of Deputies, 455. Gobelins, 456. Pere la Chaise, 457. 

South op France and Spain. Leave Paris, 459. Diligence, ib. Cul- 
tivation, Grape, 460, 461. Forests, Button-wood, 461. Clan, 462. 
Bayonne, ib. Spain and People, 463. San Sebastian, 465. Passage 
of Pyrenees, 467. The Mule, 469. Post Towns, 472. Vittoria, 
473. Scene with CMldren, 475. Madrid, 477. Prado, 478. Fan, 
479. Palace, 481. Ancient Armoury, ib. Gallery, 482. Minera- 
logical Museum, 486. Butter, 488. Water, 489. The Escorial, 491. 
Philip n., 493. Casino, 497. 

Return to Paris, 506. Baron Louis, 514. Dieppe, 517. Channel, 
and Incidents of Voyage, 519. Newhaven, 522. London, 523. 
Edmburgh, 524. Ai'darroch, 528. Highland Sunday, 529. Prof. 

S 's Clinic, 532. Professional Visits, 534. Carberry Hill, 641. 

Insane Asjdum, 542. Pinkie House, 544. Sunday — Church, 546. 
Queen's Drive, 551. Last Day in Edinburgh, 553. Carlisle, 554. 
Anecdote, ib. A Day in Manchester, 557. Leave Liverpool, 560. 
Dedication, ib. Appendix, 561. Note, 563. 



A PHYSICIAN^S VACATION; 



A SUMMER IN EUROPE 



ROUTE. 

I LEFT Boston for Liverpool, you remember, early in 
May, 1852, and after rest from a weary, sick voyage, I started 
from London for the Continent, -- crossing the Channel 
at Dover for Calais, and passing through France, Belgium, 
Prussia, Mecklenburg, Hanover, Hamburg, to Stettin on 
the Oder, and thence by the Baltic to Cronstadt, and by 
the Neva to St. Petersburg. Moscow terminated my pro- 
gress in Russia. My return was through Denmark, the 
Duchies, Prussia, Saxony, Austria, Bavaria, Baden, entering 
France at Strasburg, and by way of Nancy, Epernay, the 
land of Champagne, — Chalons, Vitry, &c., reached Paris. 
You will see, by following me on the map, that I passed up 
on one side of the Continent, returning along the other, 
completing the triangle by the almost straight line from 
Vienna to Paris. My wanderings were not yet over. I 
left Paris for the South of France, and having passed 
through this exquisite portion of that noble state, I reached 
Behobie, " the last crumb of France," and was at once on 
the bridge which crosses the Bidasoa, which unites, or 
separates, as you please, France and Spain. Here on the 
banks of the Bidasoa, and on the first plank of the bridge 
1 



2 LIFE AT SEA. 

stands the French sentinel in the national uniform, and 
there on the last plank of the same bridge stands the 
Spanish Sentinel in the military dress of his nation. The 
middle plank of the bridge is the dividing line here of two 
great nations. As I walked across it, with one foot in 
France and one in Spain, the thought came with an inten- 
sity of interest rarely felt before, that this almost imaginary 
dividing line, and which the rapid river changed every 
moment, gave geographical and political birth to two great 
nations as opposite to each other in language, thought, 
habit, everything, as if mighty oceans rushed between, or 
the everlasting mountains separated them. After six Aveary 
days and nights of almost uninterrupted travel, crossing the 
Pyrenees, I reached Madrid ; then visited the Escorial, and 
soon after began my return journey to France, to England, 
to Scotland, to America. In how few words have I sketched 
a voyage through many distant empires, of various language, 
different governments, and customs, which embraced many 
thousand miles of surface, and took some months for its 
completion ! 

LIFE AT SEA. 

Life at sea is a perpetual novelty. Let the landsman 
go to sea when he may, it will always be new to him. It 
is a fragment* of life broken off at both ends. The sea is 
never in one stay. . It is motion, of sea, and ship; in the 
last, of all kinds, and. in all directions. Now it is sidewaj^s. 
Anon it is plunging, first bow, and then stern ; and in the 
height of the madness, the ship is, as it were, taken bodily 
out of its place, as if about to change sea for air, and then 
with half fall, and half suction, she is drawn down into 
the depths again. I shall never forget an Atlantic night- 
storm many, many years ago. The ship had been for hours 
describing all sorts of antics. Not one had been missed, 
and nothing remained for her to do, but to sink; when 



LIFE AT SEA. 3 

suddenly slie became perfectly still, — as still as death. 
But there was on deck infinite confusion, — riorsyinG: fallins, 
ropes pulling, officers swearing, speaking trumpet in full 
blast, wind roaring. What had happened I knew not. 
Rejoiced was I to be at rest. I had been sea-sick for more 
than twenty days, without let or hindrance, and during 
this present storm, worse than ever. At last the ship stood 
still, — motionless, — in the midst and presence of a terrible 
gale. The felicity was short, very short. She soon began 
to bang away again. The bulkheads were at their old 
work, — creaking, straining, groaning, and I at once fell 
into full harmony with all about me, and was the sicker for 
the little rest. An officer came into the cabin. " Whxit 
has happened? " said I. " Why did you not keep her still 
a little longer ? I was having a beautiful time, and then 
the old story came back again, motion, motion, motion, — 
sick, sick, sick!" "We have been in the trough of the 
sea," said the mate, " and if we had not got headway upon 
her at once, we should have been off to Davy's." I em- 
phatically suggested to him that, as to that, I should quite 
as lief have been " off to Davy's," as where I was then 
providentially sojourning. Sea life in a sailing ship is the 
true sea life. There can be no mistake about this to him 
who has been made captive by its terriSle power. To my 
experience it is the most horrible of all lives. *' The mercy - 
of the waves! " A wave never had any mercy; and as to 
" bowels of compassion," this phrase means little more 
than a settled purpose to swallow everything in their 
way, — a ship, a man, or a whole crew, making to these 
" bowels " not the smallest difference in the world. To know 
what a "sailing ship" really is, just look at one from the 
deck of a steamer. Observe her movements. Up she goes, 
and down again. Then amuses herself and her company, 
passengers especially, with a roll ; now tacks, now keeps 
on, — all sorts of directions ; now sailing west to make 
easting, — now north for southing, as seems to her the most 



4 LIFE AT SEA. 

diverting, — and now resting, by getting into the trough of 
the sea, as if weary of her ridiculous antics, — and out of 
the trough determined to behave worse than ever. You 
cannot divest yourself of the idea that all this is the result 
of a demoniacal will ; and with the Bramin's faith that 
there is a spirit in everything, you feel sure she is possessed 
by the very devil himself. How, when in a steamer, have I 
pitied both crew and passengers of such a craft, when at 
such a frolic. There are then lamentations there, and harder 
things, — expressions, I fear, savouring more of strength 
than of righteousness. Milton's notions of the infernal 
regions seem realized aboard a sailing vessel, with a long, 
tough head -storm. The whole detail of such a life is essen- 
tial confusion, perpetual disorder. Bracing yards, furling, 
and unfurling, springing this, breaking that, tearing into 
ribbons every sail. I have been in it all. Never, never 
will I try the experiment again. 

For forty-seven days together have I seen and felt the 
unmitigated and unmitigable horrors of a sailing ship life. 
It makes me tremble, even at this safe distance, to think of 
it. That first voyage, to Europe, was made in the good 
ship Nancy, of at least two hundred tons burden, towards 
half a century ago. What changes have been made in 
ships, and their management, I know not. I speak only of 
the old time, and of navigation as it then was. 

But a steamer of two thousand tons, more or less, burden, 
with her invisible crew of one hundred or more men, all told ; 
and only heard when pulling at the ropes, in the chorus : 
Cheerly, men, — clieerly, men! 

And what a pleasant sound was it to hear in my waking 
hours at night, for it told us that the wind was fair, and 
the steam was to be helped by the sails ! I shall never 
forget that low, deep, almost sad melody, coming in the 
night-watches, on the fair, leading gale, telling of progress 
and of safety. Then the boatswain's pipe with its clear 
whistle, giving the word of command with the distinctness 



LIFE AT SEA. 5 

of the voice, with none of its often useless noise. Then 
the assurance of daily progress. To be sure of this, only 
look at the compass, — but speak not to the man at the 
wheel, — and, if going to England, see its great capital E, 
looking directly, and without wavering, to the short bow- 
sprit. I never saw them out of line, though we had after 
a few days' sail passed from 42° to 54° N. There was no 
talk of easing her, no luffing, no wearing, no vulgar 

screaming to the steersman, with a d to help it, to 

keep his nose out of the binnacle, and see that he kept the 
leach of that sail taught. 

On, on, goes the steamer. She never goes out of her 
way. She shows not the least ceremony to the waves. 
She cuts through them as with a knife, and away flies the 
salt sea all over her, to the top of the chimney, making the 
red one white. I have seen one of these sea-frolics, this 
revenge of the waves on the merciless cut- water of the boat, 
when the water washed in torrents over the bows, and set 
the members of the forward cabin, who were at play in their 
apportionment of the deck, full knee deep in the brine, to 
the no small amusement of those who escaped the ducking. 
I was in the habit, when able to keep the deck, of going 
forward to a seat just in front of the wheel-house, and near 
enough the bow, to see how the splendid steamer made her 
smooth passage through the mighty waters, throwing them 
wide round her, now in the whitest livery of foam, and now 
in every colour of the rainbow ; and few visions do I remem- 
ber more sublime, or more beautiful. It had been rough 
and drizzly for a day or two, and the wind ahead, and I sat 
in my favorite seat, and looked without satiety for a long, 
long time upon the broken, sparkling, solemn sea. Sir 

, a fellow passenger, came and sat down by me. 

We were for a time silent. He at length spoke, and asked 
me if I remembered certain lines in Homer which describe 
the sea in a storm. I said no ; when he poured forth in 
Greek, sounds, which were the echo of the very scene before 
1* 



6 LIFE AT SEA. 

US. I cannot let this opportunity pass without a word of 
grateful memory of this scholar and gentleman. His uniform 
courtesy, his simple, but highly gentleman-like manners, 
Ms kindness when the weakness of sea-sickness made it not 
easy for me to stand, his varied learning, his knowledge and 
love of art, his recollections of S^ ain (which it was my pur- 
pose to visit), his richness of memory, and the facility and 
cheerfulness with which he brought out his treasures, all 
that I saw, heard, and learned of and from this gentleman, 
was cause to me to rejoice to have his company, as it now 
is of the pleasant memories which the recollection of his 
society always bring with it. It was my privilege, and 

pleasure to make the acquaintance of Lady in the same 

voyage. How often and well do I remember the long 
walks ; yes, the long walks up and down the hurricane deck 
of the good steamer with that lady, and with what pleasure 
do the conversations recur to me. Is it not worth while to 
break away from the old and the worn, — to leave one's home, 
and by voyage, and by travel to find a new heaven and a new 
earth ; and if it should want righteousness, has it not the 
great compensation of human development and action under 
novel influences, placing us in new social positions in the 
society of distinguished persons, unfolding to us new insti- 
tutions and monuments which have become reverend by 
time, and which, standing side by side with the living pres- 
ent, are the great argument of human growth ; and promise, 
and prophecy of uninterrupted progression ? 

One of the attractions of steamboat life, is its perfect 
order. This order refers especially to masses, leaving the 
individual as much freedom as the circumstances in which he 
is placed allow. Thus one of the great facts in this life is 
eating and drinking, they making one, and its rules in regard 
to number, time, or hours, are most accurately observed. 
One is surprised at the number and quantity, and great at- 
traction of these meals. The cuisine is perfect, going into 
the minutest details, the choicest and the best, as if a great 



LIFE AT SEA. 7 

and richly furnished market were just round the corner, and 
your host had paid it the first visit. AVe had every day 
fresh vegetables, fruit, &c., in the finest order; the whole* 
ration for the whole table every day being packed in ice, 
and ready to be brought to light with every succeeding sun. 
He or she must have fared miserably at home who complains 
"here. Nothing is truer than the common remark, that the 
worse a man or woman has lived at home, so much greater is 
the dissatisfaction with what is found abroad. One looks for 
a different inference. The complainer surely suffers by his ill- 
placed comparisons. Our meals were daily, five. Breakfast 
at eight ; lunch at one ; dinner at four ; tea at seven ; and 
at ten a nondescript affair, but always welcome, of poached 
eggs, welsh rabbit, sardines, &c., with a night-cap, which 
literally capped the climax. It was a great matter these 
eatings and drinkings ; and the passive but abundant exer- 
cise of the steamer, with the bracing air, insured appetite, 
and a good digestion to wait upon it. Then other exercises, 
walking, running, hopping, shuffleboard, &c. &c., aided the 
stomach labour. These were active amusements. We had 
beside, passive occupations, as reading, writing, backgam- 
mon, drafts, chess, cards, and much of day and evening 
were devoted to these. Walking was named among the 
business of the day. Of this the amount was prodigious. 
Parties, a lady and gentleman, the younger especially, 
walked up and down the long deck, passing and repassing, 
with as glowing, living complexions, as if sentiment and the 
strong sea-breeze had conspired in their manufacture. It 
was whispered that impressions were sometimes made more 
than skin deep during these walks. With what truth I cannot 
say. This rapid foot exercise aided the steamer in the great 
work of quieting, and disposing of the luxurious meals so 
rapidly succeeding each other. There was one meal, if the 
word be not a misnomer, which was quite by itself, which 
seemed to me a supererogation. Whenever I was well 
enough to be out of my bed, I was on deck, and being an 



8 LIFE AT SEA. 

early riser, I was among the earliest astir. Often I found Sir 

on deck before me. The meal which was new to 

me, was a preparation for breakfast. Let me premise that 
as I have made many voyages, it may be supposed that the 
following experience was general. It was not at all so. 
Between seven and eight, some six or more persons of quite 
mature age were to be seen on deck, and they, the stoutest 
and most healthful looking of the whole company. After 
the morning salutation, it was always proposed to take 
something for an appetite, and odd and even, settled whose 
lot it was of the party to pay for the general meal or drink. 
When this was over, the party disappeared by stairs which 
led to saloon and office. 

In pleasant evenings, the ladies and gentlemen assembled 
under an awning, and there, with singing and talking, the 
stupid shore etiquette and its miserable conventions being 
quite dispensed with, they entertained each other with story, 
song, anecdote, personal experience, and what not, without 
*' galling the kibe," or doing other than giving each other 
pleasure. I shall long remember these experiences of 
steamboat life, and not willingly forget those who con- 
tributed to them. We took in at Halifax a number of 
young gentlemen, of the army and navy, going home on a 
visit, and, among other pleasures, to enjoy the Derby. They 
were the pleasantest men in the world. Full of life and 
fun, ready for the latest novelty, and daily and hourly task- 
ing their wits for something better than the last. I shall 
remember these shipmates, their perpetual good humour, and 
their ever ready good sense. Being a medical man, one 
matter among my sea life experiences has especially interested 
me. It is the benefit so frequently (not universally) ob- 
served to result from sea voyages to invalids. They have 
been long ill, shut up within doors, it may be, confined to 
bed, and doctored and nursed to very little salutary pur- 
pose. Such persons hardly touch the steamer before they 
begin to feel better. I have known one who had been in 



JOURNAL. 9 

bed all winter, with, rheumatism, making daily or hourly 
migrations from one joint to anothar, and giving him terrible 
twinges at every stopping-place. I have known such an one 
to have been most faithfully watched night and day, with 
muffled bell, and light step ; in short the whole house has 
been a hospital, and he the only patient in it. Spring comes ! 
it grows into warmth, — the grass, the bud, the flower. A 
voyage is recommended. It is agreed upon. The long, and 
sorely tried, and sorely left invalid, is taken on a bed to the 
boat, is kindly received, and stowed away in his room. 
Rare luxuries for sickness here, — to such a patient, hardly a 
comfort ; noise, rushing confusion, the whole mystery of pre- 
parations for all sorts of things by all sorts of means. " Is 
this No. 3 ? " cries one, plunging " into our friend's narrow 
quarters. "No," comes faintly forth in answer, and the 
involuntary intruder rushes out as if from the cholera. The 
bell ! The sharp brass cannon ring. Away drives the 
steamer. My friend begins to feel as he has not felt for 
months. He stretches forth his hands on each side of him, 
and fixes them ; and raises himself a little. What a weight 
for so much weakness ! What a lever ! What an uncertain, 
slippery fulcrum ! But he does rise somewhat. Food is 
next demanded, and he eats. Night comes, and he sleeps. 
Such a night ! The whole winter, how little did Dover's, 
how little did morphine, how little did anything ! He 
w'akes in the morning, a new man. In two or three days 
he is on deck, walking with the rest, happy with all, a new 
man, strong as Lucifer, — a son of the morning. Now this is 
no dreaming. It is true ; all true. Thousands upon thou- 
sands are they who might go and do likewise. So much 
does this interest me, that sometimes I think wo might have 
hospital steamers. Truly hospitable are they already. But 
upon further thought, I would advise no such thing. A 
part of the cures now effected by the sea, is by the entire 
revolution which it brings in regard to every relation of 
sickness. And a most important fact is this in the business. 



10 LIFE AT SEA. 

But the philosophy of the treatment, the sea-shop ? This 
is in a nutshell. Unused potver is used. The power may 
be at home, at hand ; but is unused, and a sick chamber 
presents to it no motive. At sea, jDillows and plasters, 
fomentations, and physic, quiet, noiseless rooms, maternal, 
sororal, conjugal kindness, have no place there. They 
have all gone by the board, or better said, are thrown over- 
board. The man has been suddenly put to his trumps, or 
his stumps, and go it he must, and go it he does. Unused 
poiver is used. The will is at hand, and puts the machinery 
in play again. The hinges may be stiff, and creak too, but 
they make their own oil ; and to the utter wonderment of 
the invalid, and all concerned, they soon work as well, and 
as easily, as ever they did. 

The order of the steamer was referred to. It was called 
perfect, — the perfection of discipline. A hundred and odd 
officers and crew, one hundred and fifty passengers, — a small 
village. No confusion. A sailor is rarely seen except on 
duty. The boatswain's pipe, — its word, — the harmonious 
action. The engine-room was a never failing scene of pleas- 
ure to me. The vast apparatus for motion, itself stationary ; 
the variety of its parts, a complication without confusion ; 
the beauty of finish, and the noiselessness of its activity, — 
its energy, — made me a frequent visitor to this room. 
My occasional companion was the surgeon, who to courtesy 
added the interest of professional and general scientific 
knowledge, and explained to me much of which otherwise 
I should have been ignorant. There was one department 
of the arrangement which especially interested me. I mean 
the Stokers, — the men who tend at the furnaces. They were 
many, and I never saw them idle. They partook, in this at 
least, of the character of every other moveable part of the 
mechanism. There were sixteen furnaces in a row, and they 
were all of them to be kept at the same temperature, so that 
the motion should be as equable as possible. About fifty tons 
of coal are used a day. It is brought to the room, put into 



JOURNAL. 11 

the furnaces, and the ashes cleared out, and thrown over- 
board, each furnace consuming between three and four tons 
a day. The stokers pass along the line of furnaces of in- 
tense fires, constantly clearing out ashes, and throwing in 
coal. The temperature in which these men work and live, 
Avhen on duty, is 120° of Fahrenheit. To me it was a hot 
air bath. Its effect, along with the toil, was striking. 
When his short watch of two or four hours is out, the 
stoker comes upon deck, reeking "svith sweat, not common 
sweat, but this mixed with a large infusion of the oily 
secretion of the glands of the skin. The skin absolutely 
shines, while the complexion has that soft brown, or Asiatic 
colour, which the admixture of sweat, oil, smoke, soot, and 
light ashes would give it. The dress is a woollen shirt and 
pantaloons ; the shirt bosom wide open, and sleeves strongly 
turned up. Each has under the shirt a quantity of refuse 
cotton from the mill, and wdth a handful of this he wipes 
face, arms, and breast, as a lady might her forehead with 
her fine cambric handkerchief. They now seek the very 
coolest part of the steamer, between the lower edge of a 
sail, if one is set, and the deck, where would be the 
strongest draft, and there lying, they drink in the cool breeze. 
Iced water is a favourite beverage ; and I was told that if 
ice grew scarce, the passengers -would give up their use of 
it for the poor stoker. I asked about their pay. It is 
high ; and so is the pay of the general cvevi. I asked how 
long the stoker could hold out, and learned it w^as for a few 
years only. It was said their principal disease is rheuma- 
tism ; but more probably it is some other, and more morbid 
and permanent condition, which has for its symptoms lame- 
ness, pain, and suffering. 

Along with order, vigilance enters as a most important 
element of steamer life. The hiost casual observation sees 
with what w^atchfulness every moment of the vessel's pro- 
gress is marked. The steamer left Bostm in May, in a 
se^'ere uortheast storm of wind and rain. The Mayflower, 



12 JOUEXAL. 

which took us to the roads Avhere she lay, was crowded 
with people, and luggage, the last being thrown in so much 
together, as to make it an almost inextricable mass of con- 
fusion. We came along side of the steamer, and then was 
the tug of war, for Greek indeed met Greek. It rained 
hard, and blew hard. We, men and women, and children, 
and luggage, bird cages, and babies, baskets, bandboxes, and 
ladies, — all sorts of antagonisms, somehow got upon the 
slippery deck, and then beneath impracticable umbrellas 
zealous search was made to learn who was who, and where 
was any, and everything. The Mayflower and her consort 
did not keep equal step up and down ; and it had been ludi- 
crous, if not really so distressing, to see some of the results 
to the passengers of this want of time. At length, persons 
and things were jammed on board. The portion of the 
high bulwark which had been removed for the admission of 
passengers and their traps, was put back into its place, the 
Mayflower was detached, the steam let on, crack went the 
sharp brass guns, and away av^ went. I went below, my 
luggage was bestowed, and after a short rest, I went on 
deck, and how changed. Nothing remained to trouble one, 
but wind and rain. On the bridge stood the pilot, trumpet 
in hand, the helmsman was at the wheel, the watch was set, 
everything for comfort and safety had been arranged, and 
the good steamer took to her work with a will. 

Sick, sick, sick. I had left home and country, for a time, 
to Escape from the power of conventions, to drop the old, 
and the deep worn, and to put on the new ; and this terrible 
enemy of the landsman, sea-sickness, seemed to be making 
pretty clean work of some of the conventions, and putting 
a full stop to the power of any which might remain. I had 
hoped that I had outgrown this strange disease, for towards 
half a century had passed since my earlier experiences of 
that kind. But no, 1 was as young as ever in my capacity 
for the disagreeable, and " give up," was the word. In 
gpme sense, I certainly obeyed the commands of the sea. 



LIFE AT SEA. 13 

If Othello could say, with the smallest propriety, just after 
his marriage — 

If it were now to die, 
'Twere now to be most happy ; 

with how much more truth might not I have said the same 
in that terrible passage to Halifax. At last, after a voy- 
age of almost unequalled length, we reached that very 
slightly beautiful city. But the steamer came to a rest. 
The sickest was well almost at the same moment. We 
jumped ashore, and felt we were something again. I 
thought of him of old, who in a fight lost all his strength 
Avhen lifted by his antagonist from the earth, but regained 
it all as soon as he touched land again. 

After a short delay to discharge way-passengers, and to 
take in permanent ones, and coal for the voyage, we put to 
sea again. There had been a lull of the wind in the shut- 
in harbor. The rain had ceased, and we almost looked for 
the sun. The day closed in with heavy fog, head wind, and 
heavy sea. On deck was a man of years, but stout and 
hearty, and well wrapped in shawl, comforter, thick sea-cap, 
&c., with a don't care look at the weather, which pleased 
me. We had some talk. He said he had nothing par- 
ticular to keep him at home, and so had come to Halifax, 
where a daughter was /living, and she wished him to make 
her house his home. But he had passed one winter there, 
and he was so well satisfied, or acquainted with it, that he 
did not mean to try another. He was going home again, 
and there he would stay. He looked as if he was the very 
man for Halifax. If I had named him, I should have called 
him Halifax. He had its hard, tough look, and spoke as if 
a winter northwester was feeding his stout lungs. I liked 
the old gentleman very much, but he retired to the forward 
cabin, and I did not see him again. 

We made fair progress, taking the northern course. Since 
leaving Halifax, the thick fog and rain had made it impossi- 
2 



14 LIFE AT SEA. 

ble to get an observation. We were at dinner when a cry 
came from deck, Land ahead ! So distinct was the cry, 
and the noise, the roar of the outpouring steam, at the 
same instant, that everybody rose from table, not with a 
rush, but in earnest, and made for the deck to learn Avhat 
the watch's announcen en meant. I was near the door of 
the saloon, and stepp'ng from the room, directly upon the 
main deck, was at the bow at once. Before me rose an 
object not at once made out. It was a dark, black, rounded 
bluff, covered thick with fog, which gave it its colour. It 
was fearfully high. The surf and the broken waves were 
dashing high against the near rocks which rose like a per- 
pendicular wall just before us, and with all the force of 
swell, and of wind. It was said the watch had supposed, 
when at a distance, that it was the spouting of a whale 
which he saw. I looked down over the bow upon and into 
the sea, and so clear was the water, that I saw as distinctly 
as above water, the natural markings or joints of the rocks 
spread out beneath. But what most impressed me was the 
perfect, the motionless rest of our huge steamer. Her short 
bowsprit pointed directly at, and almost touched the moun- 
tain bluff before her. She seemed to me to tremble in her 
great rest, so suddenly had she been stopped in the midst 
and pressure of an eleven knot speed. She seemed to me 
as if looking at the peril before her, and from which but an 
instant before she had escaped, with a calm defiance, the 
assurance of her own entire safety. Why is it that a moral 
character, an intellectual nature, is sometimes seen by us to 
attach to purely material things ? Is it not the natural 
transfer of the power and will of man to that which he so 
wisely, so nobly controls, which divests outward circum- 
stance of all its power, yes, makes it tributary to the high- 
est good ? Is it not man speaking in his works ? It was 
but a momentary rest. The engines were again in action, 
the steamer quietly receded, turned, and joyfully did we say 
farewell to Cape Race ! A long time after, I accidentally 



LIFE AT SEA. 15 

fell in with one whose acquaintance I had made in that 
voyage, and asked him about the scene just described. He 
said the distance of the boat from the rocks when stopped, 
was estimated at about eighteen feet, that a bowsprit of the 
length of one of a sailing ship of the steamer's tonnage would 
have touched the rocks ; and that the engineer, at the mo- 
ment of the crj' of land, had his fingers on the valve of the 
engine, which would give free course to the steam. Hence 
the tremendous noise of its escape, so contemporaneous with 
the cry of land. 

The thought came after this escape, how it might have 
been with us if it had been in the night, when in such fear- 
ful proximity to this stormy cape, or if it had been a sailing 
instead of a steaming vessel. Is it probable that any would 
have escaped ? Here would have been between two and 
three hundred to be provided for. The cape at this place 
was an abutment of perpendicular rock to the sea. The 
w^ater was quite deep up to the rock, so that it was said that 
the steamer could have floated when against it. But how in 
the deep darkness of night, the time supposed, in the con- 
fusion, the rolling of the sea, could land have been reached, 
or who at that spot could have climbed to it ? On each side 
were rocks and shoals against which the sea was beating, 
and the heavy surf dashing. To the landsman there was 
seen to be no escape for us, or for any other vessel which 
might strike against such a sea wall as that. The feeling 
at escape got its character from the sure destruction which, 
under other circumstances, might have been our lot. 

In the midst of this scene of present danger, the most per- 
fect order was everywhere. The captain w^as at his post on 
the bridge, and saw from it the all and the whole which 
was before him. His orders were given and obeyed with 
an intelligence and readiness which got their characters from 
the power whence they came. The commander of such a 
vessel is a monarch, and must be obeyed. He is the spring 
of that vast machinery of human mind and muscle out of 



16 LIFE AT SEA. 

the use of which is to come safety. The dress, the manner, 
the whole position of such an officer give to his word true 
authority. I have sometimes thought it was an advantage that, 
in the English steamers, the officers have the dress of naval 
officers, and have been in the service of the sovereign. 
Such men are obeyed at once. They are used to command, 
and the men feel their power. The history of the British 
navy abounds in instances of , the results of this power under 
most threatening circumstances at sea ; and which, in con- 
trast with French vessels in like perils, show to the greatest 
advantage. I never was so moved by the manner in which 
danger was averted as at Cape Race, never felt such conscious- 
ness of safety in the use of human power as at that moment. 
It was the work of a moment, when thaf noble vessel was 
again under weigh. We returned quietly to the saloon. The 
power which had ruled the crew, was felt by us all. 'Not a 
word of fear was uttered ; not a question was asked. A 
nervous lady, and a nervous gentleman, might have showed 
his or her infirmity. But there was not one such aboard. 

I have often been impressed and oppressed, with the feeling 
that this sea life is an imprisonment, and the most absolute 
of its' kind. This at times has had associated with it, the 
thought that escape was impossible, not only from the impris- 
onment as a fact, but from every, and all things which might 
occur to add to the embarrassments of such a position. But 
I do not remember ever being annoyed by fear even where the 
risk of life has seemed, and has been regarded, as imminent. 
The thought and talk has been of preparing the boats, getting 
out provisions, &c., but not of despair. I do not believe 
that the history of adveliture can furnish cases of cooler 
thought and nobler daring, and success too, than have been 
displayed in shipwreck. Where discipline really is, it is so 
habitual, so perfect, — order so emphatically perfect, in evsry 
day, hour, and moment of sea life, that a commander always 
feels that his men may be relied upon, and his word strictly 
obeyed. The "aye, aye, Sir," of a real sailor, is a w^hole 



LIFE AT SEA. 17 

volume of cheerful, questionless obedience. In the steamers 
in which I have made voyages, this has everywhere been 
displayed. The captain, the men, and the vessel, have made 
one, and the harmony of relation has been perfect. 

The prison feeling declared itself most when looking from 
bow, or deck, over the wide, wide sea. You felt assured that 
you could not leave them for a moment to trust yourself to 
the outspread waters. You are weary, tired out, with the 
long confinement, and long to be again at large — " to take a 
walk." This was the thing longed for by me, and the de- 
mand came with a tone you must hear and understand. I 
shall not forget the strong feeling which filled me when near- 
ing land, — the end of the voyage. I was to leave the steamer, 
or ship, and be again free. Sometimes this was said in 
the- hearing of the captain, and he would express his regret 
that we were so anxious to leave him. It was not to leave 
him. But his ship and he were one, and to be glad to leave 
her, had naturally associated with it, a desire to leave him. 
In my homeward passage down the Baltic in the good 
steamer Victoria, Captain Kreuger, of Hull, England, I had 
felt and expressed much interest for the land. At the close 
of my voyage at Copenhagen, I made it a point to offer to 
that excellent officer my thanks for his constant courtesy and 
kindness, — to express my regret to- leave him, and to offer 
him such return as I could make, should he ever come to 
America, and where I might again meet him. 

Steamers, though so admirably arranged for speed and 
safety, have, with all other contributions to the general and to 
the individual comfort, certain incommodities which it is not 
always easy to reconcile with their otherwise perfect adapta- 
tions to their objects. To allude to one or two of these. 
At the head stand the state-rooms for the private, personal 
accommodation of passengers. There is a fatal mistake in 
the construction of these. They are designed for two. In 
the family relation this may be tolerated perhaps. But for 
single men, — single men to be made double, — Siamese for 
2* 



18 LIFE AT SEA. 

the voyage, — is utterly abominable. In the first place, the 
state-room is almost too small for the healthy respiration — 
breathing — of one full grown person. In it are two berths 
or sleeping shelves, with a narrow board in front to keep the 
sleeper, or the sick, from rolling out. The mattrass of course 
harmonizes in width with the shelf. He who has neither 
lung fever, nor pleurisy, may sleep " this side up," — and 
get along pretty well ; but he who is reduced to the back, 
must look out for his hips and his ribs. I have known one 
or two men who could only get along by genuflection, which 
answers well on Sundays ashore, but for every night in the 
week, might possibly be troublesome. ' Dressing is a myste- 
ry, when two men, strangers, are up in such quarters, and 
■ try to dress at the same time. It is embarrassing, even after 
a treaty that only one should get up at a time. Some could 
only get along in putting on a coat, by opening a door, and 
so thrusting an arm into the corridor; and by a jump from 
the bed shelf get into their pantaloons. As to undressing, 
the least done the soonest mended. For myself I make a 
short toilet, for I have little to replace, for as to the night 
detail, I never practised it. My custom was when I was sure 
of being a few minutes alone in the day, to use them for 
the elegances, as far as such things are practised at sea. I 
certainly was of the slightest sect of disrobers. The favours 
of sea-sickness were so liberally bestowed upon me that the 
military word, " as you were," or rather, "as you are," was 
conformed to by me with a respect for discipline which de- 
served to be accounted admirable, and which in common 
shore life I very rarely display. 

Then again the sleeping shelves are one above another, 
book-case like. A choice occurs which of the two shall 
inhabit which. Many prefer the lowest shelf, for it is easier 
under some circumstances, sea-sickness being one, to fall into, 
than to climb up to, a bed ! There are reasons, however, for 
choosing the upper berth. For instance, the partner of your 
joys and sorrows is of great weight and size. The fear will 



LIFE AT SEA. 19 

come that he may break through the thin sacking and web- 
bing, which separate him from you, and so become a partner 
of your bed hardly to be desired. I knew a case in which 
the slight man below effected a change with the stout man 
above, and got great comfort by the bargain. There is an- 
other reason for choosing the upper berth! Your chum 
devoutly undresses when he goes above ; when he descends, 
he who is below may be seriously disturbed by what may 
happen ; the descender's feet or their extremities are quite 
likely in the restlessness of the boat, to come in fearful 
proximity with you, your face for instance, and after a man- 
ner in no important sense agreeable. 



Non ignara mali 



Let me then advise all who are in their novitiates in sea-life 
to be hooked up, — to be stowed away upon the upper shelf 
of a steamer's state-room whenever he has a choice, provided 
he is not to be sea-sick. He may need a ladder for his first 
essay at ascension, and one may always be had for the ask- 
ing-; above all things, let him have his robes on, and solemn- 
ly pledge himself never to get down, till his inferior has 
got up. 

The true, the only decent method of arranging all this 
to meet all personal emergencies, is to take a whole state-room 
to one's self. No matter what the cost. Sacrifice a month 
or more of foreign travel, wear old clothes, eat but one meal 
a day, rather than have a fellow-citizen so near you as to 
breathe half your air, and make you breathe all his ; in 
short, respire at second hand, for a fortnight or more. Said 
a friend once when asked to admit a man into his bed for a 
single night only, in a crowded hotel, " What ! a man in my 
bed ! I would sooner have a cow ! " And who looking into 
the gentle, innocent face of the steamer's cow, as she puts 
it out between the bars of her solitary cabin for the kind 
pattings of the passer by, would not be more than half 
inclined to the doctrine of my bachelor friend ? No ; I go 



20 LIFE AT SEA. 

for the " room to myself," and if it is to be paid for, I will 
cheerfully pay for it, or stay, at home forever. As to di- 
viding such a seven-hy-nine with another, I will never 
again do it. 

Another matter, — meals, — the table. It is the custom to 
make a mess of one's friends, countrymen, &c., and for free- 
dom, familiarity, sympathy, and what not. Now the theory, 
the philosophy is good, but the practice is not always felici- 
tous. When you have chosen your seat, put your card into 
a plate, the first day out of course, you must keep it to the 
last, you have got your place, and you belong to it. But 
you are disagreeable to the party, or they to you. No mat- 
ter. You may be disagreeable to another one ; change is not 
in the order of the day. You made a mistake in your selec- 
tion at first, and you must abide by it. When one goes 
abroad, he does not care to stay at home at the same time. 
He goes in quest of the new, — new men, and new women, 
new manners, new life. Should I ever go again, I mean to 
plunge head first into the whole novelty of the thing, — of 
travel, — and on the very first day, " bid my native land 
goodnight." The Hibernianism is pardonable. 

Never select your company, then, from among your own 
countrymen, if you can avoid it. You want to learn just 
what they cannot teach you. I once entered a national 
mess. It was large, and had in it three French people be- 
side, — a lady and two gentlemen. The lady sat at my left 
hand, a countryman at my right. This lady was a whole 
volume of manners. Whether of France or not, she cer- 
tainly spoke French. The sea, which Salmagundy says is a 
marvellous sharpener of the wits, certainly performed the 
vice cotis for her stomach, for a most excellent appetite had 
she. She was very large, and though I never saw her eat as 
freely as Garagantua was said to have done, yet the amount 
was in every way worthy of note. What might have hap- 
pened had the voyage been a long one, it is not for me, a fellow 
passenger, to say. You fare sumptuously every day in the 



LIFE AT SEA. 21 

steamer. Experimentally, I can only speak for tlie Cunard 
line. Than these, better boats, or more gentlemanly officers, I 
never wish to meet, to sail in, or with. Everything, yes, 
everything was there, and everything done which heart 
could wish. But to my lady in French. She had a fine 
eye for colour as her dresses witnessed, and so had she 
for dishes. These, our lady accumulated around her, and 
sometimes devoted to them a self-appropriation which was 
noticeable. Madame was especially fond of an article 
which was served with a sauce, — pickled beets. One day a 
climax was reached in eating. The lady not only eat from 
the dish its whole solid contents, holding it in her haiid, but 
with the spoon regaled herself with the whole of the sauce, 
the blood-red vinegar. 

*' The force of eathig could no further go." One day, 
however, a sort of retributive justice occurred in the advent of 
which some silently rejoiced. Some very fine, large, yellow 
apples were served. In their exodus down the table they 
gave out before the whole of the company was served, the 
supplies stopping just as the lady in French was reached. 
This was not to be borne. It seemed to her to be utterly 
impossible that she should have been so deserted in her 
utmost need. But so it was. Some ladies had been quiet 
in such a catastrophe. But nut so my fair neighbour. Look- 
ing round, so that what the look meant could not be mis- 
interpreted, she exclaimed with a concurrent emphasis, 
" politesse ! politesse ! " The servant soon returned with a 
fresh supply of the golden fruit, and it reached the lady 
without the loss of a specimen. It went no farther. 

Now here was a whole chapter of outspoken sea life, un- 
der peculiar circumstances. To be sure there is a general 
respect for No. 1, which may not show itself so plainly in 
shore life. The general at home, becomes individual or 
special at sea. If it show itself in the mess, woe to the 
neighbours. But for this foreign lady-interpolation, at our 
mess, what a humdrum affair the five daily meals would 



22 LIFE AT SEA. 

have been. There was little or no talk* We had all of 
us read Bos well just before leaving the Mayflower, and 
had not forgotten the great lexicographer's abjiirgation of 
talking while eating. Not that he thought anything about 
the chances of choking. No. His remarks of the incivility 
of talking while at table till eating was done, applied wholly 
to the necessary diminution of pleasure by allowing anything 
to come out of the mouth while the means of such exquisite 
pleasure were going in. Let me say a word or two of the 
occasional selfishness of No. 1, which declares itself in 
sea life. I have crossed the Atlantic four times. I have 
been upon the Oder, the Baltic, the Neva, the Rhine, the 
Danube, the Elbe, across the Channel, and over the roughest 
of seas, the German Ocean. I have thus seen and felt some- 
thing of sea life. It has its character in circumstances, as 
position, character, culture, sex, age, &c. &c. Those all 
influence it, or determine the phase under which it declares 
itself. A lady and gentleman with six petted children, from 
three to twelve, will make the five meals anything but 
pleasing. I speak from knowledge. At sea there is a 
temporary escape from ordinary shore rules, and in various 
degrees of it, which makes sea life a thing per se, and which 
to the novitiate, unless he is very sea-sick and keeps below 
(which is generally the case with such, and what may inter- 
fere with researches into conduct and character), is both 
strange and disagreeable. On shore, social sympathy, a 
convention again, which, however, nothing but fashion has 
power to tread clean out from among men and women, — 
pardon, ladies and gentlemen ; this social sympathy on shore, 
has for the most part a healthful, active life and power, 
which show themselves in a truth, beauty, and delicacy, 
which at sea are not always met with. Now, a true philoso- 
phy demands reasons, and explanation may be found in a 
foregone conclusion with every passenger, that there are ten 
chances to one that at any moment he may sink, be cast 
away, or somehow find bottom, and that so, the best pos- 



LIFE AT SEA. 23 

sible business or occupation on ship board is eating and 
drinking as much of good things provided five times a day 
as is possible, to please one's self, the price being a matter 
of no sort of consequence. The condemned, we are told, 
sleep soundly and eat heartily the day and night before 
execution. The prisoner of hope in the steamer, with Cape 
Race before, and icebergs all around, and an impenetrable 
fog everywhere, a prisoner indeed, and to feel condemned 
to sleep soundly every night, and eat to the full five times 
a day, may have reasons for taking care of himself, which 
the love of the neighbour may not surmount. Who can 
complain of what a generous philosophy so perfectly ex- 
plains ? And say you : 

" Why not eat, pray, and all you can ? What appe- 
tites are got up in a ship ! Why not gratify and satisfy 
them? Besides, what a lack of all occupation aboard? 
But for the fine meals the saloonites would all die of sheer 
ennui. This eating, like sleeping, is a grand institution, 
and who at sea has not felt the equal value of both ? If 
eating could be patented ! What a fortune would be made ! 
I defend No. 1, then, at sea. Not by philosophy, but by plain 
common sense ; and I believe the man or woman who argues 
against me in this, does so merely to get a chance to eat and 
drink the more." I put down this argumentation just as it 
was given, and confess there is something in it. Let me 
give an example or two. In one of my sailing-ship voyages, 
No. 1 declared itself in many ways, and in a specimen in 
both sexes. We were all fellow-citizens of the Great Re- 
public, — not of her of the four masts exactly, — and felt 
perfectly at home, and that every body had a perfect right to 
do just what he pleased. The second mate, — the hardest 
worked man of the whole crew, — responsible for every- 
thing, and deputed to the captain's watch to boot, — the 
second mate loved onions. As he had the captain's watch, 
he claimed now and then, especially at night, to have his 
privileges. So he solaced these night-watches with cabin 



24 LIFE AT SEA. 

bread, cold junk, and uncooked onions. His partialities 
were discovered, but not until he had eaten the last onion, 
and the poor mate had to suffer, not the pleasures, but the 
pains of memory ever after. 

At another, this form of self-pleasure, eating on ship board, 
declared itself in a female passenger. She daily filled her 
plate with everything, approaching to a delicacy, on the 
table. Her seat was just below my berth, which was on an 
upper shelf of the sleeping and eating cabin arrangements. 
I was very sick, and had not been below all the morning. 
The lady, one stormy day, had filled her plate with all the 
choicest contents of a chicken pie. There was gravy, wing, 
breast, liver, upper and under crusts to match. Everything 
was ready, when the good ship, in her infirmity, heartlessness, 
or heedlessness, fetched a lurch of such decided expression 
as to tip the lady's chair completely up, and her completely 
down, in the smallest possible space ; over all was her plate 
of pie, and various other moveables which the table side-guard 
could not keep in place, or on its surface. Not a soul moved. 
How to move or what to do in such peculiar circvmistances, 
could not be settled. There lay the lady in most wretched 
plight, and the more disastrous, that she could not move a 
peg to help herself. She called for help, — she screamed. 
She declared that her arms and legs were all of them broken, 
— she should die. Nobody stirred. At length I began 
to move. I was sicker than ten deaths. I looked down 
from my eyrie, not as an eagle for its prey, but simply to 
take an observation, and to help if I could ; and what a 
sight below ! I was three tier up, and looked every moment 
to be thrown by the labouring ship into the scene beneath. 
I reached bottom safely, — helped the helpless, — found no 
bones broken, unless the chicken bones had suffered, — be- 
stowed the wovmded in her state-room hard by, and laboured 
back to bed, and to a nameless stomach experience, which 
certainly had not become less by my latest attempts to help 
the afflicted. I was, of course, dressed, as it was my then 
certainly felicitous custom to be. 



liirE AT SEA. 25 

But steamboat life is a splendid thing. I have known 
nothing in life to be compared with it. A steamer is a thing 
by itself, — so large, so grand, so fearless. One day we 
took soundings. It was a sight to see, that enormous 
mass stopped in mid-ocean as by her own will, and as if 
resting from fatigue to leap away again with renewed power. 
It was a splendid thing, that sounding at sea. How I 
should rejoice to be off again in a steamer, sickness and all. 
But I would have a state-room by myself. I would select 
no mess of countrymen, or others. I would go far from the 
saloon door, and put my name on the farthest off plate, 
and run for luck for the human surroundings. I am not a 
merry man, and disposed sometimes, morbidly if you please, 
to keep by, and to myself. If this be indulged, when the 
fit is off, I can be as cheerful, as social, not of course to say 
as agreeable, as any body else. If such a man begins his day 
right — if he gets out of bed with his right foot first, it is 
odds but he wdll behave well all day ; and if he do no such 
thing, he will, I know, always be the chiefest sufferer. Let 
me in kindness, dear friend, add, — at sea always go at least 
half dressed to bed. 

I have spoken of sickness as an element of sea life, as a 
part of its very nature. Said one who had sounded all the 
depths of this terrible evil, " I cannot define it. It is inde- 
finable. We know nothing of its cause. I can only say it 
is sea, sea, sea."' For the most part my experience of it 
was of the common order. But once the mind became 
turned over as well as the stomach. The brain became dis- 
ordered. I can best state what was my condition, by relat- 
ing my experience. I was lying in my berth one evening, — 
the light burning brightly, — too weak to feed myself or 
even to think, when I saw sitting opposite to me a man with 
his hat on, dressed in a drab suit, his legs crossed, and either 
reading or lost in deep thought. I did not see any book. 
I was not at all disturbed or surprised at seeing him. He 
seemed as naturally there in his place as I was in mine. 
3 



26 LIFE AT SEA. 

He attracted my attention as would any other person who 
had in the usual way come in and had taken his seat in my 
parlour. While he was there I took a tumbler of water 
from the near table, and carried it very slowly to my lips. 
But upon attempting to drink, the ends of my fingers and 
thumb touched my mouth, while I, in the slowest possible 
manner, opened my hand as if to assure myself that I had 
not held in it the glass. Again. I took up an orange, and 
slowly carried it to my mouth. But again was I disap- 
pointed, but the disappointment, as in the case of the 
tumbler of water, did not trouble me. I was exceedingly 
thirsty, but still the disappearance of orange and glass 
gave me no annoyance. Now there was no table in the 
state-room ; there was no orange, and no tumbler of water. 
There was no man, and yet the consciousness of the presence 
of these, and of my having handled some of them, was as 
complete as any fact of experience during my whole life. As 
if however some mistake riiight exist with regard to the man 
in drab, with his hat on and his crossed legs, I should have 
risen from my bed and have gone and spoken to him, but 
that my utter ex?.austion made this impossible. But why 
not speak ? Because it was my purpose to take hold of, 
or pass my hand through him. I was not asleep ; I was 
not dreaming. The whole character of the phenomena con- 
tradict entirely the notion of sleep. And as to its being a 
dream, I know too much of the stuff that dreams are made 
of to admit this idea for a moment. Dreaming has relation 
to nothing. It has no permanent memory. It is thinking 
with imperfect consciousness of the process, and hence im- 
perfectly remembered, and for the most part made up of all 
sorts of incongruities. Its parts have no relations to other 
things, and are lost, dropped out of, or through the mind as 
having no place in it, or in any of its operations. Now the 

state I was in, in that state-room of the steamer 

was one of perfect, entire, and consistent consciousness. It 
is present to me to-day ; an act of memory as perfect as that 



LIFE AT SEA. 27 

mental action ever produces. There was tlie man, the glass 
of water, the table, the orange, facts of sense, which pro- 
duced corresponding related action. The harmony was com- 
plete. And yet there was no man, glass, orange, or table, 
and I know of no former experience which could by the 
memory of them have presented such a picture to my eye, 
and what I so deliberately and carefully examined. I have 
written my case out at some length, because I think it is 
not without interest, and it may be pleasant for you to read, 
and to think of. 

Sir Walter Scott, Sir David Brewster and others, have 
published books about illusions which contain remarkable 
instances. That of Nicholai, the celebrated Berlin book- 
seller, and author of books, is a remarkable one. I met with 
it many years ago in books on legal medicine, in which it is 
regarded as a mental disease, in which the question of re- 
sponsibility may come to be involved. Quite as remarkable 
a case as that occurred in Boston some years ago. The late 
Judge D was its subject. He described to me the ap- 
paritions by which he was visited. They were of the dead — 
his friends. They were moving about, talking to each other, 
and were as happy as people could be. Some were of a 
very early period of his life, and he described their dresses 
and manners. " They are always pleasant," said he. " I 
have no disagreeable apparitions." They continued to visit 
him to his death. He knew they were appearances only. 
They did not occupy space, for real persons and things were 
among them, but without disturbing the apparitions at all. 
His mind was as clear, as vigorous as ever it was. I have 
given to you an account of my own case because of its 
connection with a sickness which prostrated me almost fa- 
tally. I have not met with it as a result of that disease in 
any history of it. In its sudden termination it is unlike 
other instances. These last have depended on some more 
permanent condition of the brain, and have in some contin- 
ued to recur a long time. 



28 HOTEL LIFE, ABROAD. 



HOTEL LIFE, ABROAD. 

This is almost as distinctive as is life at sea. Its charac- 
teristics are perfect calmness, coolness, knowledge of sur- 
faces, and happy guessings of the deeper, together with 
interest enough in what is in hand to make sure that it will 
be well, and acceptably done. The two things, or words, 
are not the same. Things are constantly, artistically, well 
done, which are not acceptable, or entirely so. We had as 
lief they had been a little less well done. Attentiveness, 
without excess, will express the interest referred to, provided 
it embrace everything, neglect nothing. The perfect London 
Hotel is entirely by itself. It has its own life. It cannot 
be imitated. It has been of slow growth, coming up out 
of the old, baronial period, it has brought along with it the 
cheerful readiness to do what properly can be demanded of 
it. The service is natural, easy, — more than enough, it 
may be, to the foreigner at first, but just what it should be 
when understood. The servant is perhaps the most impor- 
tant part of the concern. He is the first for welcome, and 
the last for farewell. You never lose sight of him, and 
he never of you. He is a piece of the furniture in your 
room when in it, differing from all the rest in being alive, 
conscious of duty, and happy to do it. His dress is excel- 
lent in its kind, and his toilet is unexceptionable. And 
why should it be otherwise ? You are in your best to be 
waited upon, why not he in his best to wait upon you ? 
The harmony is complete, superficial indeed in itself, but in 
its workings, it may be, deep enough to meet every demand, 
— entire willingness to serve, and satisfaction with the 
service. 

Different notions exist in regard to the nature of a Hotel, 
and as to what is true life in it. It is not a caravansary, as 
is that in Trafalgar Square, and that other parallel one in 
the Rue Rivoli. I arrived at the last at the close of a 



HOTEL LIFE, ABHOAD. 29 

hot day, after a most tedious ride by Rail and by Diligence. 
I drove into the quadrangle, which seemed more like an 
exchange than anything else, in the restless crowd of ser- 
vants and travellers who filled it. To my joy the house 
was as full as the square, and at a moment's drive down the 
street, I found accommodation at a genuine hotel. 

My hotel in London was in Jermyn Street, St. James', 
and a perfect specimen in its kind. Not too large, it had 
capacity for its objects, — to accommodate such a number as 
could not possibly interfere with each other, and whose 
return for their accommodation would amply compensate 
him who furnished it. It met in all its appointments the 
following definition of such a house. A somewhat rhetori- 
cal classmate of mine in college had been to the opening of 
a new hotel. I asked him how he liked it. "•Very much," 
said he. " It has all the privileges of a private house, and 
all the immunities of an inn."' Could Johnson himself have 
said better ? 

From the long practice of doing for myself much of what 
is often devolved upon others, a habit of self-dependence 
had been formed, which made some of the detail of hotel 
life embarrassing. The arrangements of the London hotel 
left me literally nothing to do. The service was all that 
the most fastidious could require. About the steps, and in 
the hall, were always to be seen servants in their black suits, 
their white neckcloths and gloves, always ready to meet the 
wants of the guest. The door was opened for you by one, 
you were accompanied to your room by another, your wants 
and wishes inquired for. These attentions were never op- 
pressive. They were just what a stranger, a guest — a 
hospes — wants. The old hospital was a hotel, a place of 
guests, of hospitality. The Mahometan when he was found- 
ing a settlement, village, city, began by building a mosque, 
a college, and a hospital. The Samaritan carried the 
wounded man to an inn, a hotel, or hospital, the guests 
place. 



30 HOTEL LIFE, ABROAD. 

But the London hotel service is to be paid for. Certainly. 
But sometimes, and in some countries, to be paid for where 
not rendered. But that you might have as little knowledge 
as possible of the demand, the " service" was charged in the 
bill, and as I scarcely ever saw a bill (my courier managing 
this whole matter of payment), and as in the exceptions to the 
rule, I only looked for the " footings up," it almost seemed 
to me that I had been gratuitously served all the time. In 
the London hotel I never saw the servants sitting closely 
packed into a settee in the hall, and apparently incapable of 
moving, or of being moved. I have elsewhere met with such 
establishments. The servants of such do little more, except 

on " compulsion." A gentleman calls. " Is Mr. in ? " 

" Waal, don't know, they'll tell at the bar." The dialogue 
is short, and the information harmonious. Now as soon as 
you know, or learn, that this is the national custom in such 
relations, and more or less runs through the whole of 
society, — if you know it as the native knows it, it does not 
trouble you at all ; you are in fact as well served in not 
being served, as if you were to receive the daily and hourly, 
and cheerful courtesy of a truly managed foreign hotel. 

At table are new developments of the foreign system. 
You may find no tahle, table dliote, a. 'mile long, two or 
three in parallel rows, vying with each other in length 
and load. You take rooms, your parlour, chamber, &;c., 
and live in them, and when you go out of them, never 
meet the crowds which you must encounter in the streets. 
You are entirely at home in such an establishment, and as 
far as home can be without a family, there is no better 
under the sun than is found in such an hotel. I was once 
stopping at one of these with some friends. My experience 
of hotels was then nothing. I had passed much of life in a 
hermit-like way, and this was a new experiment in living. 
It was a great hotel. Not great because large, for it was 
no such thing. It could accommodate just so many as 
would by paying the largest prices secure all that such an 



HOTEL LIFE, ABROAD. 31 

institution could do for both comfort and luxury. You felt 
you were not in a caravansary, 2i feeding house only, but in a 
place to live in, and where living was as pleasant as it well 
could be. I remember my first dinner. At breakfast a 
card is brought in (a bill of fare), and a selection is made 
for dinner. We are not required to eat everything which 
is set down. A guest at one of our largest hotels had taken 
his place at table before his companion. When he came, he 
asked his friend how he was getting on. " O, very well," 
cried he. " I have eaten all through from soup to dessert, 

and shall soon finish the fifty cent job," We of the 

selected what we wished. The selected is to be paid for, 
not the whole card. So that if you mark down one, two, 
three, or twelve articles, that is your dinner. If you dine 
out, you pay nothing. You are not living per day, or per 
week ; but in regard to eating. Your lodgings are a per- 
manent concern, and for these the price is not small. 

But my first dinner. A waiter entered in black, &c., 
with a napkin across his arm. He was chief. Another 
attended him with soup. The table else, except the com- 
mon dinner furniture, was entirely clear. The tureen took its 
place as if it knew it. We took ours with a like prescience. 
The waiter removed the cover, and the napkined arm dis- 
pensed the Julien. The soup removed in various ways, the 
second course appeared also with two waiters. This was 
served to each by the servant, nobody at table by him or 
herself aiding. I was getting tired of the ceremony, and of 
the extreme repose of its enacting, and ventured to help 
myself to salt, when alone for a moment or two. I w^s 
kindly told this was entirely against law, or custom, the 
sternest law, and that I must always wait to be served. I 
transgressed again, and most naturally, for in these matters 
I had always been a law to myself, and was again admon- 
ished. In utter despair, I at length .exclaimed, " Well, I 
mean hereafter to have a servant to feed me, I will while 
abroad never feed myself again." This was my first ac- 



32 HOTEL LIFE, ABROAD. 

quaintance with despotism. It was the despotism of the 
table only, you may say, but to me it was about as trouble- 
some, if not as dangerous, as any other form of the same 
thing could well be. It struck at living, if not life. I fell, 
however, into the traces, and soon got on very comfortably. 

On the continent, hotel life is perfect in its way. The 
whole table (where there is a table d'hote), parlour, and 
chamber arrangements, are excellent. There is system run- 
ning through everything, and this system is more or less 
despotic. There are servants in abundance, but always in 
their places. Every article of food requiring to be carved is 
in small division, and with a fork with which to help your- 
self, makes the circuit of the table in constant rounds, and 
yes, or no, settles the relation between guest and food. 
You cannot but feel how useful, as well as how perfect, is 
this order. The courses are numerous, and a very small 
portion of so many is quite enough. When you have done 
with anything you may have been eating, all you have to 
do is quietly to stop, and at once, as by magic, the old dis- 
appears, and the new succeeds. There is no interregnum 
here. The king never dies. For the most part my own 
rooms in the hotel served for every purpose. Sometimes 
the suit was of three, always of two, connected rooms, with 
every possible outside or contiguous accommodation. Where 
there was no table d'hote, there was a coiTee-room, with 
papers, &c. For instance, in the Hotel Brighton, Rue 
Rivoli, I had three rooms, — a parlour, chamber, and dress- 
ing-room. The Tuilleries Garden was directly opposite, 
making to me the very pleasantest place in Paris. In my 
two visits to Paris, this was my resting place. The walls of 
my rooms were covered with paper hangings, and each had 
many closets, but as there were no doors visible, these being 
covered with the same hangings as the walls, you would not 
have supposed there was a closet in the whole suit. This 
was especially the case with the front rooms which I selected 
at my second visit. Having one day accidently discovered 



HOTEL LIFE, ABROAD. 33 

a very small key handle projecting very slightly from the 
wall, I turned it, and opened into quite a respectably sized 
closet. " Upon this hint " I pursued my search, and found 
as many as six or seven in one room. What could they be 
for, and all of them so closely shut when the apartments 
were surrendered to me. My bed in the front room was in 
^ recess, with a curtain before it. It seemed to belong to 
nothing else ; but at the footboard I discovered a narrow 
door opening directly into a passage to the stairway. Now, 
the bedstead filled the recess by its length, so that the door 
opened only outwards, and if circumstances should ever 
make escape, or a sudden retreat, necessary, it could be 
made in the easiest manner possible, by merely stepping 
over the footboard, and passing at once down stairs. The 
curtain being closed, no one entering the parlour could 
know what had happened behind it. The arrangements of 
closets and concealed doors bordered enough upon the 
mysterious to set my republican imagination at work, and 
its labours amused me not a little. How easy it were to 
have drugged me for instance, and locked me up in one of 
these commodious closets, or done worse by me. And 
how much might be made of that door at the foot of the 
bed ! That these closets were examined after I left I 
learned at my second visit, for having left some trifles in 
one of them, I did not find them on my return, and asking 
why, learned that it was the custom to clear them all out 
when the rooms were left. 

The merest accident brought me to the Brighton. I was 
one most pleasant day on the Danube, in a steamer, and got 
acquainted with an English lady and gentleman, who were 
on the way with me to Saltzburg. They added much to 
the agreeable of that voyage. He had lived long in India, 
and from appearances had made a fortune. He was perfect- 
ly courteous, with a slight infusion of the bluntness of his 
race, and nation, which produced variety without the dis- 
agreeable which not unfrequently goes to make it up as well 



34 HOTEL LIFE, ABROAD. 

at liome as abroad. The lady was altogether pleasing. She 
had a handsome face, which, to me, is often more agreeable 
than mere beauty, as handsomeness has more to do with 
expression than with features. The expression in this ex- 
ample made the attraction. She was often busy with 
Murray, and was an excellent guide, and prompter to her 
companions. She did not look into Murray to learn what 
she was to see, but what she saw, and if there was occasion, 
consulted. I abhor guide books. They give you some- 
body's impressions, but disburb your own. The farther 
north I went, — the further from the common tramp, — the 
less I consulted these works, for when I did, the more 
frequently was I annoyed by what seemed to me mere im- 
pertinences. The lady sketched, and with much skill, and I 
have no doubt was guilty of journalizing. At least she 
made " notes by the way," Something was said about 
Paris, and I made a question about hotels, and lodgings. 

Mr. named the Brighton, and described and recom- 

m.ended exactly the rooms which I afterwards occupied. 
"But," said he, "you will be charged a round sum for 
them, and you must not be in a hurry to engage them. But 
the advice is useless. Men cannot make a bargain, and 
always pay the asking price. The only way to travel is 
with a lady. She understands the whole matter. She, of 
course, knows languages. Well, we stop at a hotel. Madam 
says, ' Sit still.' I obey. She lights ; goes in ; asks for 
rooms ; goes up stairs ; is showed rooms ; the price r So 
many francs a day. ' No, that will never do. Did not 

Mrs. stop here a short time ago ? ' ' Yes.' ' A very 

pleasant lady. By the way, how is the little boy of yours 
who was so ill, and so much interested my friend ? ' ' Quite 
well ; many thanks.' ' You said so many francs, I think.' 
Reduction begins, and by the time my lady has asked all 
sorts of questions, the terms have come within such con- 
venient limits that the rooms are engaged. Now, you will 
go to the , or the ; see the rooms, or send 



HOTEL LIFE, ABROAD. 35 

your courier to see them, and they will be engaged at an 
enormous price, — a price never expected, — and so will as 
many more who will come after you. I say always travel 
with a lady." 

Once, at least, in Germany, it happened to me to be sup- 
posed to be accompanied by a lady. At least the house- 
keeper, with her bunch of keys at her girdle, and clean 
sheets across her arm, asked me if she should arrange the 
beds for two, — two beds being in every room, not for single 
parties, mark you. As I had no fancy to make a chamber 
fellow of my courier as such, 1 could not but suppose that 
my sturdy son of Denmark, for my courier was a Dane, had 
been taken for a lady. What of joke or of truth there was 
in the advice of my English companion, he gave it in much 
spirit, and it made a pleasant passage in my way through 
the Danube. The anecdote is given as received. I cer- 
tainly went to the Hotel Brighton, and certainly made no 
bargain as to price, and probably paid no more than if I had 
attempted to alter it. There is skill in such business trans- 
actions, of which endowment I plead to as small an amount 
as the dullest traveller of them all. I trusted my courier 
with all such diplomacies, and had faith enough in the order 
to suppose I was treated as are others who trust themselves 
and their affairs to such an agent. He was of mature age, 
was well recommended, and was paid what he demanded 
for his services. As to the Brighton, I received every atten- 
tion that I could desire, and shall certainly drive directly to 
it again the very next time I visit Paris. With regard to 
the suggestion of my Danube companion, as to the expedi- 
ency of taking a female bargain maker Avith us, I would 
only say that her expenses might very possibly over balance 
the saving. 

I have one complaint to make of hotel life in some ex- 
amples. Service is charged in the bill, — so much a day 
- for servants. I have no objection to this. But as I have 
been stepping into my carriage to leave for the railway, or 



36 THE RAILWAY. 

other conveyance, all tlie servants of the establishment have 
gathered round me for remembrance. Now I know they 
had all of them been paid. But there was just time to 
reach the train with hard driving, and I knew well that rail- 
ways, like time and tide, wait for no man. So it only re- 
mained to pay again. Some travellers would perhaps have 
answered in word and tone wliich would have scattered the 
pleaders ; but I have not yet learned the lesson. I meant, 
when leaving Paris for Madrid, to come back to the Brighton 
on my return, for it was perfect in its accommodations, and 
it was as well to leave just such a farewell as would secure 
a welcome. 



THE RAILWAY. 

This is a great invention. I remember the first which 
was built in America. Somewhere about 1826, Col. T. H. 
Perkins of Boston, built one about two miles long to carry 
granite from a quarry, in which he had interest, to the 
water. These roads, and modes of their use are national. 
In America, the carriages are called Cars. They are long 
boxes with windows on the sides, doors at the ends, with 
seats for two, each ranged on the sides, an alley- way be- 
tween. These cars, or vans, will carry from twenty to fifty 
passengers, more or less, each. The seats have low backs, 
and for night travel are most unfit. For a stifi" necked, and 
stiff backed people, they may answer well enough. The 
language of railroad travel is national. " How did you 
come to town ? " " In the cars." " In how many ? " asked 
one. The lady only answered, " In the cars." This word 
means train, convoy, or what not, the whole, whatever may 
be their individual use. The cars are not locked. Passen- 
gers pass at will from one to the other, whether the train be 
at rest or in motion ; and terrible at times, is the attempted 
passage, the person falling between the cars, or across the 



THE RAILWAY. 37 

rail. I was not long ago returning from a professional en- 
gagement between one and two hundred miles from Boston, 
and had half way reached home. The train stopped at a 
station, commonly called a depot in America, when a pas- 
senger rose to stop at the place. He handed to the con- 
ductor his ticket, and walked towards the door. He was a 
tall, large man, between sixty and seventy, and of excellent 
appearance. Just as he had put his foot on the platform of 
the carriage, the train was set in motion, — this started the 
old man forward. I saw by his movements in the carriage 
that he was infirm. Instead of turning towards the step, he 
stepped directly forward. The conductor, a strong man, 
seized him round the waist, and endeavoured to draw him 
back, but this he found he could not do, and the weight of 
the old man was dragging him directly between the cars. 
He must inevitably have fallen there had he retained his 
hold. He withdrew his arms, and the man fell forward, 
and then laterally so as to lie directly across the rail. The 
conductor sprung to the brake ; did all he could to prevent 
the farther movement of the train. But he failed. For a 
time, say for twenty feet the motion being slow, the old man 
was pushed forward, and before the wheel nearest him. 
But at length something stopped his farther progress, and 
the train passed over his body, just across the hips. By 
this time the train was stopped, and the old man was taken 
into the station. He was alive when I reached him, but in 
the agonies of death, and soon ceased to breathe. I cannot 
tell you how deep was the effect of this scene upon the 
travellers in the train ; how cautious were they in leaving it, 
as they reached their homes. But with caution, accidents 
under the present mode of entering and leaving a train will 
continue to occur. Before it stops, especially at a terminus 
of the railway, everybody is in motion towards the doors 
at the end of the carriage. As many as can reach it are 
upon the platform, and are jumping off before the train 
stops. Twice have I followed others in this perilous hurry. 
4 



38 THE RAILWAY. 

Both times I supposed the train had stopped, so noiseless 
and imfelt is its movement when in the station. The first 
time I was thrown w^ith almost stunning violence upon the 
platform, or landing place, and far aside from the rail. The 
second time was evening. The colour of the steps and 
platform was the same, and my sight being poor, I did not, 
and could not see whether the train was still or not. I 
stepped down and was thrown lengthwise between the rail 
and wheels. I lost my consciousness at once, and knew 
nothing till I felt myself dragged out of my fearful position 
upon the platform, and was stood upon my feet. I still 
was unconscious. Gradually I saw where I was. Three men 
were supporting me, and asked me if I was hurt. I soon 
w'as able to answer that I w^as not, and asked what had hap- 
pened to me, and learned of my fall, and of having been 
dragged from death by the three men w^ho supported me. 
Yes, I had been seized and pulled up as a dead animal 
might have been ; it being supposed I w^as dead. I could 
not at first understand them. A strange confusion held me 
in doubt of everything. It seemed to me that 1 had been 
dead, and suddenly had been brought to life, but w^as in- 
capable of using the restored life. I believe if I had fallen 
across the rail as did that old man, a short time before, and 
had been killed as was he, I should have been as uncon- 
scious of the change as he w^as. Said one who had saved 
me, " Sir, it is not safe to get out of a car while the train is 
in motion." It was said gently, and from kindness too, and 
I have not forgotten it. Few things have more frequently 
occurred to me when this railway experience has come to my 
mind than the precise parallelism which must have existed 
between my body and the rail. If an arm, a leg, any por- 
tion of me had been, so to speak, out of line, it must have 
been at once ground off. If my clothes or any part of them 
had been caught by a wheel the, whole of my body must 
have followed it. I have now told my story, almost for the 
first time, and I have done so that others may escape the 



THE RAILWAY. 39 

terrible peril in which a too rapid movement to leave a rail- 
road train placed me. On the continent, in Europe, they 
lock the carriages. 

Something was said about the discomfort of the American 
car S3'stem. One does not care when he has left home for 
something which for the time may be pleasanter, or, what is 
the same thing, is thought to be so, to find his thought at 
fault in every mile he may travel. The American system of 
cars, brings half a hundred of one's fellow citizens into his 
company without introduction, or any farther ceremony than 
the buying of a ticket. It is convenient to crowd and cram 
certain vans, but why the human ones should be so close an 
imitation, and in more respects than one, of the others 
alluded to, it is not easy to say. Next to the crowd is its 
accommodation. Just step with me into a railroad car. You 
need only look at the backs of the seats to learn what your 
experience shall be. These backs reach some way up your 
own, cutting the spine midway, or higher up, as may be the 
man's or the woman's length. Now, the spine is a touchy 
member, and you learn what its experience has been on the 
rail by an indescribable feeling of shoulder-ache, back-ache, 
fatigue, &c., which no change of place will cure or make 
less. The day is hot ; dusty ; you started early ; you are 
tired ; you are sleepy ; your neighbour on the seat is a very 
fat lady ; has an infant six months old in arms ; and infants 
must be looked to, and come what may, you must look to 
them too. 

If, however, you want to learn the whole luxury of our 
railway travel, just take a seat, — for comfort, I should say 
two, — in the afternoon Worcester express train, and come 
back in the New York night train. The latter is a caution, 
I assure you. The car is full. Every window is down ; 
time, twelve midnight, every passenger sound asleep. 
Sleep knows no law. There is a tall thin man, he has 
slipped forward in falling asleep, and is caught by the neck, 
the occiput, as the anatomists call it, fixing him tight. You 



40 THE RAILWAY. 

see his throat, — Adam's apple, — making the apex of a broad 
pyramid. His arms and legs are any, and everywhere. 
His face is dark, livid, and covered thick with heavy sweat. 
Every breath is a snore, with certain intercallary respiratory 
outbreaks, followed by rests, or arrests of sound, which 
seem to be death. 

Through the thick, dense atmosphere, and by the partial 
light of the yellow burning lamps, you look round for a 
seat. At length you find one with only one man upon it. 
But he has done his best to make it comfortable to him, and 
with this view he has stretched himself diagonally along its 
narrow surface, leaving a doubtful triangle back and front, 
for you to choose which will minister best to your own 
repose. Of course you take that, the base of which is in 
front, and gently do you take possession of it, well knowing 
if you break its long possessor's sleep, he will be very likely 
to break your bones for your pains. For two long hours 
or more you industriously exert yourself to maintain a 
doubtful position on the edge of a cushion, worn hard by 
use, well knowing into what perils a cat-nap would surely 
plunge you. There is not the least exaggeration in all this ; 
this account of our car luxury, — 

QuEeque ipse miserrima vidi. 



Let us now see how it is with travel in England, which 
boasts itself of those two high sounding and lofty meaning 
words, comfort and home. It was said that rail travel is na- 
tional, and so is all that pertains to it, and we have seen how 
nationality in this matter declares itself in America. There 
everybody travels, it having been proved that it is cheaper 
to do so than to stay at home, and that the profit of the 
enterprise is found in the crowding of so many together, 
even though the squeezing be almost unto death. Let us 
next see how it is with the country of comforts and homes. 
The car, or van system is unknown there. A carriage or 
coach-body is placed upon a platform, which last rests upon 



THE RAILWAY. 41 

wheels. There are two classes of carriages, and you are at 
liberty to take your place in either. In the first class is the 
extreme of luxury, and the price is harmonious. In the 
second, not the smallest arrangement for comfort exists. 
You find in them neither cushions nor stuffings, nor carpets. 
Boards, boards, boards, are everywhere. The floors are 
worn through in places, and the unwashed windows are for 
anything but for admitting light. Ventilation is abundantly 
secured. They say in England, that none but fools and 
noblemen take the first class. 

The Marquis of Waterford is one of these, but not the 
other. He took the seat to which his ticket condemned 
him, in a carriage totally wanting in all comforts. There 
was neither stuffing, cushion, nor carpet. Boards, boards, 
boards, as was just said, were everywhere. With this, 
however, he experienced no dissatisfaction. But annoyances 
unlooked for, soon came. Crowds of ill-dressed, dirty persons, 
flocked in, with dogs, and loads of luggage, which threatened 
to drive the Marquis out, or to squeeze him flat. He saw 
through the whole of it. It was a wilful purpose so to an- 
noy him as to drive him into a first class. This he resolved 
to do battle about. And how ? At the first stopping 
place he saw two colliers, or chimney sweeps, of a most foul 
bearing, and from whom he learned that they were about to 
take passage in a third class, for a long through journey 
somewhere. He at once got two first class tickets, gave 
them to his sooty brethren, and put them into one of the 
most exquisitely appointed carriages of the train. The con- 
ductor came up and ordered them out, and with an authority 
which had its manner in its believed legitimacy. The Mar- 
quis bade him to clear out, to shut up, and ordered the 
strange passengers to keep in, adding for the comfort of the 
conductor that he was a member of Parliament, and that he 
would prosecute him and his whole road, with all the force 
of law, and to the extent of his whole fortune and privilege, 
if he in the least possible way or degree disturbed those first 
4* 



42 THE RAILWAY. 

class J)assengei*s, who had tickets which secured them the 
places they occupied. " NufF sed," as the phrase is. The 
conductor " shut up," and the Marquis's proteges were shut 
in, and doubtless had a splendid drive in di. first class, all by 
themselves, and as doubtless left " their mark " upon the 
exquisite drapery by which they had been all day surround- 
ed. Such is the story. 

You know that I am neither a nobleman, nor a member of 
Parliament. So I never took a first class ticket. I began 
not to do so in Liverpool, and when with some friends I 
went up to London, and they, being wretchedly ailing, and 
wanting the comfort, took first class, I took the second, and 
sat in the same carriage with their coloured servant. It was 
a most uncomfortable place, having nothing in it to minister 
for a moment to one's comfort. But the voyage was made 
in the day, and being rather a " slow coach " for a steam 
outfit, it gave me a very good chance to see a portion of 
England which I had indeed seen before, when travelling 
post some years ago, but of which no one can tire. My 
next experience on the English rail was in this wise. I drove 
between seven and eight, P. M. to Euston Square, London, 
for the train for Edinburgh, between three and four hundred 
miles from London. My very heart sunk within me when 
I had got into the second class. I could see its poor promise 
by the surrounding lights. It was all of wood, the floor of 
old wood, cracked, and abounding in holes. It was incon- 
ceivably wretched in all which belonged to it. There was 
a gentleman with whom I fell into talk. I found him well 
informed, especially about railways and carriages. Acci- 
dents he said, and fatal ones among the rest, occurred daily, 
and stock quotations were low enough. Said he, " How 
can we avoid collisions? We must employ the poorest en- 
gineers, and our watchmen are so stupid that they do not 
know a red signal from a white one, and as to the switches, 
they are a mystery far beyond their comprehensions. The 
roads are so unproductive that we cannot pay for good men. 



THE RAILWAY. 43 

There is a brancti for which so many pounds a week are 
borrowed to keep it in operation." Not long after this I met 
with a director at a very pleasant dinner party, and he repre- 
sented the condition of the roads, of their management, and 
of their want of money for their support to be quite as bad 
as did my second class companion just quoted. He told 
us that he also knew all about one railway in which expense 
was so much beyond income, that weekly loans or advances 
wei-e necessary for its support. 

In due time I began to learn what second class in Eng- 
land meant. The carriage began to fill, and with such 
materials ! Dogs, shovels, pickaxes, all sorts of packages, 
bundles, as soiled as such things ever are, with men attach- 
ed. We were literally stuffed full. I appealed to the con- 
ductor. He had no remedy, or would not use one for me. 
There were half empty, and all empty carriages in the train, 
but they were not for me. I had taken a ticket through in 
Euston Square, and had taken my seat, and that seat I must 
keep with all its surroundings. How heartily did I wish 
that I had been half a marquis, or a whole member of Par- 
liament. The member from Waterford was in my mind 
every moment of this wretched experience of mine, I loved 
rank. I adored privilege, and occupied the disgusting hours 
with humbling conductors, and scaring railway directors 
who owed office to my vote, and who could be made to feel 
power. Despotisms, forsooth ! Here was a despotism 
which made your bones ache, and every moment an hour of 
misery. Oh, Waterford, how did I envy you ! At last the 
conductor offered me something else, but nothing better. 
It was a sort of private express affair, stuffed with packages 
of all sorts and sizes ; in one, with ominous thick, and solid 
paper, was contained iron ware ; in another, books with like 
envelope, and lighter affairs of all sorts. Room was made 
for me by displacing a portion of the loading, conferring on 
me the pleasant office of keeping the dislocated in place. 
The compensation was that I was alone with none to annoy 



44 THE RAILWAY. 

me, — with all sorts of ill smells, — nor drive me from my 
propriety. There is nothing beneath the skies which can be 
made so disagreeable to a man, or make himself so, as one 
of his own species. He is a living, self-willed, nuisance. 
Talk about charitable constructions ! There is no construc- 
tion in it at all ; it is all offensive, all odious, and you can 
make nothing else of it. It is pleasant to reach the Edin- 
burgh station, and after a short drive, find yourself at rest 
and comfort, in Gibbes's, Prince Street. 

I left Scotland in the second class. The gentleman by 
whom I had been most hospitably entertained in Edinburgh, 
went with me to the station. In my carriage was a lady to 
whom my friend introduced me as he said farewell. The 
lady spoke first, which to a gentlemen is an assurance that 
his society is not disagreeable ; that the acquaintance has 
been made under pleasant circumstances. She said my 
name was known to her, that she had met my brother at 
Miss Joanna Baillie's, and that she was acquainted also with 

Hon. , of Boston. In short I found myself 

at once at home with this lady, for she knew those of my 
own house, and friends who had my respect and regard. 
She was an author, for her name was associated with literary 
pursuits. How pleasant was the second class in this ex- 
perience of it. It was in itself the best I had seen in the 
United Kingdoms, and if it got its character from my dis- 
tinguished companion, I was perfectly \villing to enjoy it 
without questioning whence the pleasure came. A Roman 
Emperor, who got the surname of Pius, said that place sig- 
nifies nothing, in his own tongue — locus nihil signijicat ; 
and to my thought the most pious of the succeeding times 

have rarely uttered a truer saying. Mrs. — made the 

plain, unfinished second class, beautiful ; and how pleasant 
to me is the memory of that morning's drive. You may find 
that I have spoken of English railway travel in another 
place. 

I landed at Newhaven, after a rough voyage from Dieppe, 



THE RAILWAY. 45 

late one night, or early one damp, cloudy morning. There 
was a small but comfortable public, not far from the shore, 
and with two or three others, I concluded to stop there the 
remainder of the night. We got tea, &c., and had a nice 
time. The chamber was as perfectly clean and comfortable 
as in any first class hotel. An English house of this kind, 
if a true specimen, smells sweet, as well as looks so. Early 
in the morning I was up, and as is my wont, Avandered 
about, and soon found myself upon a pebbly beach. After 
an early breakfast we took the train for London. It was 
the Parliament train. Though not for members of Parlia- 
ment, exactly. It has a history, as well as a name. In 
granting a charter to build a railway, provision is inserted 
that a train night and morning shall be sent over it, at one 
penny a mile charge. This is the Parliament train. It is 
of course made as comfortless as possible. At times it is not 
covered, let the weather be what it may. But the carriages 
are all of the first class, unless there can be a distinction 
without a difference. They are all exactly alike. We had 
a covered train, and for a penny a mile we travelled much 
more agreeably than for the two or three penny charge of 
the second class in more pretentious conveyances. I said the 
carriage may be uncovered. Now, in England, this is matter 
of little consequence. Rain is so common, an every-day 
occurrence, that the people are as little troubled about water 
as a Hollander, or a duck. They are dressed for it, and the 
rare sun is hardly ever so hot as to do more than dry up the 
heavy fog, or the heavier rain. 

I had the pleasure to pass an evening with an intelligent 
man, and a director of one of the principal railroads. The 
conversation fell on the condition of these roads, — of the 
expenses of construction, and the amount of dividends. The 
expense has been enormous. He mentioned £130,000 a 
mile as the cost on one road. (?) These high prices were the 
necessary results of the price of land, and he gave instances 
of this which were very striking. A man bought a bit of 



46 THE RAILWAY. 

land for £1000. It was really of no great value. He sold 
it to a railroad for £4000 a short time after. Another sold 
land, and upon it was stone of some value. He not only 
was paid for the land, but for every ton of stone removed for 
the passage, or for the construction of the road. Then law- 
yers' fees, and parliamentary expenses, were enormous. Com- 
petition came in for a large share of the loss on the outlay, 
and it was showed how great had been the expenses of all 
parties in fruitless attempts to prevent the construction of 
opposition roads. The dividends were very small. Shares 
bought for £20 or £25, which cost from £30 to £50, or that 
being par, were dividing two per cent, in some instances, 
while in others that amount on £100 par, was all which 
could be paid ; in some not only was nothing paid, but a 
great loss was thereby incurred, which must ruin the con- 
cern. Something must be done. The latest plan was an 
amalgamation of the larger roads in one, and the amalgama- 
tion of smaller ones in the same way ; and then to 
increase the price of fares everywhere, and upon all kinds 
of travel. This, it was thought, would lead to the pur- 
chase of all the roads by government, and to the running of 
them at prices which might be even less than at present. 
There was one cause of the great expense of making the 
roads which deserves notice. This was settling what should 
be the rise of the road a mile, where extensive cuttings and 
tunnelling were thought necessary. These processes were 
thought by the engineers of the day to demand great sacri- 
fices of money in order to secure speed. Thus, on one road, 
there would be one foot rise in one hundred and forty-five, 
and more. It was now proved that one in forty-five rise 
would quite answer all demands for good speed. I saw a 
grade of this kind, one foot in forty-five. (.'*) Then again, 
committees of construction had been chosen from men who 
had been long engaged in the direction of county and 
other roads, as if this experience would be of any value in 
building a road which had not any such resemblance to the 



THE RAILWAY. 47 

other as would make it at all probable that previous knowl- 
edge could be brought into play. It reminded me of an 
anecdote of a friend who was desirous to obtain a captaincy 
in the war of 1812. It was not easy to get volunteer gen- 
tlemen for the service. My friend was asked which service 
he would prefer. He said the artillery ; and for the reason, 
as he told me, that having been in early life an officer of a 
merchant ship, he knew how to manage ropes He got his 
commission, and I did not hear that he disgraced it. I speak 
above of English railways as memory and notes serve. 

As soon as you leave England travel gets a new face. On 
the continent, as well as on the island, you travel by rail in 
coaches set upon platforms. On the continent they are per- 
fect in all their appointments. The second class has less re- 
finement of finish than has the first, but for comfort by night 
and by day there is nothing to distinguish them. The seats 
are numbered and so are your tickets, and confusion about 
places is prevented. I always took a seat by a door, and 
as the windows are always perfectly clean, and the carriage 
is high, there is an excellent chance for seeing the country. 
My courier, who knew every step of the w^ay, kept me in- 
formed in all matters of interest to the traveller. You are 
safely locked up whenever the train is in motion, so that you 
can neither jump out, nor anybody else jump in. This 
prevents the death and the injury which occur so often in 
America, by leaving the carriage before the train is com- 
pletely at rest. As soon as it is stopped the conductors 
pass rapidly along the line unlocking each door, and saying 
the number of minutes the train will stop. I remember but 
one accident which this locking up system most fatally com- 
plicated ; this happened in a train which caught fire while in 
motion. A number were burned to death. This is the 
only grave occurrence on the continental roads, except a very 
recent one in France, and for which the train officers im- 
plicated were severely punished, both by fine and imprison- 
ment. We should have heard of other instances had they 



48 THE RAILWAY. 

occurred. The English and American journals are, I may 
say, daily, more or less occupied by reports of fatal or other 
railroad occurrences, which, it is as often asserted, were 
wholly " accidental," or " without fault," or any species of 
neglect on the part of anybody connected with the road. 

The arrangements for safety of passengers on railways on 
the continent of Europe are admirable. In the first place 
speed is not an essential element in these arrangements. 
You go quietly and pleasantly along with the enjoyment 
which the whole leisure and independence of travel can 
afford. You are in no hurry. You are not racing to get 
somewhere to pay a note before *' grace " expires. The 
telegraph will do all this for you " without your stir." You 
can see everything " by the way," without producing a creak 
in your neck, and if you wish you may make a note of what 
you see. In other words, travel is wholly agreeable, ■ — 
not merely the stopping places, the cities to which you are 
bound, — but the getting there has in every inch and moment 
of it something for sight and for thought. One thing only 
can mar the pleasure of the road. It is eating full meals by 
the way. This is fatal to pleasure travel. The work of diges- 
tion is as much as a man can do under the circumstances, and 
to add to it motion of any kind makes both the function and 
yourself as uncomfortable as they well can be. And then 
the time allowed to dine is so wholly disproportionate to the 
time necessary for eating, that your food goes bolted, and 
bolt-like into your stomach, to stop there, and weigh there, 
much longer than is consistent either with physical or moral 
comfort, — the intellectual is wholly out of the question. 
Wherever you stop in the season for travel, the railway 
platform is covered with neatly dressed girls, with sparkling 
cold water, lemonade, ice cream, strawberries, cherries, or 
later fruits and flowers, — everything, in short, for refresh- 
ment, even luxury, and the sous, the grochen, or the kreitzer, 
cannot be better paid, or give more pleasure to buyer or 
seller. Is it not a beautiful " refreshment house," this fine 



THE RAILWAY. 49 

open air, this liglit, this beautiful sky ? And then how wel- 
come the smiles and the offerings of these happy children ! 
For ninety successive days of travel and stops, such scenes 
were mine, for there was not a rainy or stormy day in them 
all. I met at Leipsic some friends whom I had left in Lon- 
don, and who had been to Holland in preference to Russia, 
and who told me that for about thirty days they had been 
blessed with rain every day. 

Then the arrangements for safety. These are as perfect 
as are the carriages, first and second class, for comfort. Sen- 
tinels are near to each other ; so near that with the extra 
English speed, you would hardly be out of sight of them. 
These persons are stationed with short batons, or flag-staffs, 
which rest against the shoulder as are muskets at drill, until 
the train has gone clear by. In the portion of France which 
lies between Calais and Belgium, women are the watchmen. 
Their military bearing, and unbloomer costume, made them 
objects of remark. Everywhere else were men in a uni- 
form, always at their post in front of the sentry-box, ready 
to give notice to stop or to go. 

Wherever a common road opens upon a railway, is a gate, 
and near by a lodge, and a watchman. At a certain hour, 
corresponding to the known time of the starting of a train, 
and its approach, the gate is closed. There is no waiting 
till a train be in sight or at hand, as in America. A certain 
time is fixed for shutting it, and the law is obeyed. How 
did I learn this ? Thus : As you approach a gate, you see 
by the array of carriages of all kinds drawn up on the com- 
mon road, that the gate for stopping their crossing has been 
closed for some time, and in this way are accidents effec- 
tually prevented. How simple the means. How important 
the results. I had not been home long before a very de- 
structive and fatal accident occurred on a road in which I 
had some interest. It occurred to me if some special notice 
were taken of this destruction of life and property, by the 
stockholders, and more effectual means were adopted for 
5 



50 THE RAILWAY. 

preventing a recurrence of the like, the public confidence 
would be increased, and a deeper sense of the responsible- 
ness of railway directors produced. With this feeling I 
addressed a note, stating some of the facts which had come 
to my knowledge of railway management abroad, and ask- 
ing if a meeting of the stockholders might not be called. 
I must have violated some law of railroad courtesy, for no 
notice was taken of my communication, — not even an 
acknowledgment was made of its receipt. I had presumed 
on the " Reserved Rights " of the Republic to petition, and 
in this found an apology for my note. Mais n'importe, as 
the phrase is ; though I did regret that the President did 
not return my note ; for it probably contained some facts 
which might have served me since. My regret, however, 
was probably misplaced. 

■ Let me say a word here about railway travel in Russia. 
I began with the American system, in the far off western 
world. It is in place to speak of the Russian, or of that 
which terminated my wanderings in the eastern world. 
You may be surprised to learn how exactly the two systems 
resemble each other. But your surprise will cease when 
you learn that, in Russia as well as in America, the railways 
are built and managed by Americans. The cars on the St. 
Petersburg and Moscow road are made on the same prin- 
ciple as are those on the American roads. There are some 
differences between them, as there are in those of different 
States here. As this long Russian road is alone, — as there 
are no rival ones, — as they are under the control of a gov- 
ernment which always acts to make life secure, by reaching 
to the minutiee of living in the widest acceptation of the 
word, personal safety, as far as human means may be em- 
ployed in its service, is wholly provided for. There are 
no collisions. There are none of the other accidents, which 
place life and limb in such terrible peril elsewhere. The 
time in which a passage is to be made, or the speed, is 
settled by law, and the penalties for its violation, prevent 



THE RAILWAY. 51 

its occurrence. The time is about twenty-four hours, and 
the shortest possible stops are allowed. The travelling 
habits of the Russians, which make good arrangements for 
comfortable sleep at night, compensate for the American 
style of seats in the cars. I was told, that by Express, 
the time is shortened to thirteen hours or ten, — that the 
Archduchess had recently passed over the road in that 
time. The Emperor built the road. When one enters the 
station he takes off his hat, and remains uncovered, as he 
would in any other house of his Majesty, or of any other 
gentleman. It is not a forced courtesy in Russia ; this is 
part of a system, and the hardship, if any, is only to the 
uninformed, the stranger. You are not admitted into the 
Hermitage in a frock, or undress coat. It is a slight evil, 
a very small price, to get ready admittance into one of the 
finest palaces in the world, and to collections in Art unsur- 
passed anywhere. It is, — a small tax for all this, — to put 
on a dress coat ; and he who will not pay it, had better stay 
at home. 

Being a traveller, a stranger, and having some eccentric 
tendencies, and which time has not entirely worn away, I 
followed my bent fearlessly abroad. At home, you know, 

especially in , some attention to appearances, — rather 

vague things, — is demanded of the citizen. Being out of 
school, I did as do other truants. I had reached Kiel in 
my way to Hamburg, and took a third class ticket. I 
looked for no luxuries, and found none. My courier en- 
deavoured to persuade me not to do so strange a thing, — 
that there were only paysants, as he called them, in the 
_third class, — that dirt, and harmonious smells abounded, 
&c., &c. I thought he was speaking one word for me, and 
two for himself, and suggested silence. My English ex- 
periences had case-hardened me. So in we got. But what 
a place. No seats, or only fragments of such. A crowd of 
Danes, in all sorts of costumes, and all smoking for dear 
life, as if to keep off contagion. The floor was perilous, 



52 THE RAILWAY. 

and ominous holes were in roof and sides. You never saw 
such accommodations for " man or beast." But who could 
complain ? I had been forewarned, and had to take it. To 
Hamburg was a few hours only by rail, and the new phases 
of humanity by the way paid well for short inconveniences. 
Kuskin, in the third volume of his admirable " Modern 
Painters," has the following on Railways : 

** No changing of place at a hundred miles an hour, nor making of 
stuflfe a thousand yards in a minute, will make us one whit stronger, 
happier, or wiser. There was always more in the world than men 
could see, walked they ever so slowly; they will see it no better for 
going fast. And they will at last, and soon too, find out that their 
grand inventions for conquering (as they think) space and time, do, in 
reality, conquer nothing; for space and time are, in their essence, un- 
conquerable, and besides did not want any sort of conquering; they 
wanted using. A fool always wants to shorten space and time; a wise 
man wants to lengthen both. A fool wants to kill space and time ; a 
wise man, first to gain them, and then animate them. Your railroad, 
when you come to understand it, is only a device for making the world 
smaller; and as to be able to talk from place to place, that is, indeed, 
well and convenient; but suppose you have, originally, nothing to say. 
"VVe shall be obliged at last to confess, what we should long ago have 
known, that the really precious things are thought and sight, not pace. 
It does a bullet no good to go fast; and a man, if he be truly a man, 
no harm to go slow; for his glory is not at all in going, but in being." 
Amer. Edit. pp. 908, 909. 

You enter Russia with a promise of good behaviour, 
specifying exactly the days, weeks, or months, you mean to 
stay. But suppose you wish to leave St. Petersburg, which 
is a department, or government, in order to go to another. 
You cannot leave without special permission, having with 
no small trouble got your passports, and paid full price for 
them. Thus, when I went to Moscow I was obliged to go 
through this wearisome, and somewhat expensive ceremony, 
and when I was to return to St. Petersburg, I was obliged 
to do the same. I was told by a public functionary, whose 
office frequently, I may say daily, called him from one de- 
partment to another, that he was required always to get 



THE RAILWAY. 53 

passports before he could change or go from one place to 
another. The most powerful noble cannot go on foreign 
travel without first getting a license, which costs $500 or 
more, and without licenses for each member of his family, 
servants and all, at somewhat less price. When I left 
St. Petersburg for Denmark, on my way to Paris, I was a 
bearer of despatches to Mr. Rives, with a courier's pass. 
This oflfice enabled me to leave without the smallest police 
delay, and without paying any fees. I underscore courier's 
pass, for without this, though you have despatches, you get 
not the smallest accommodation from your public office. 

My impression is, that the railways of the continent are 
in some way under the control of government, and that it 
was to this fact their safety and appointments are to be 
ascribed. I know that when in Austria I got into some 
trouble with a conductor, that my appeal for redress was 
made to the Bureau of the great northern road in Vienna. 
The line of steamers between Prussia and Russia, from the 
Oder to St. Petersburg, is owned by the Czar, and the 
King of Prussia, his brother-in-law. The name of the 
boat in which I took passage was the Prussian Princess. 
The two royal proprietors divide the profits, and I was told 
that the lion's share fell to the Prussian King. I came 
down the Baltic in a British steamer, named the Victoria, 
which is owned by a company in Hull. The Great Britain 
railways are private property, owned by companies, by 
whom dividends are thought to be useful accidents. So are 
they private property in America, in which country divi- 
dends are eminently accidents. And without departing 
from the gravity of the subject, are not other accidents, as 
collisions, &c., &c., to be ascribed to the same causes, the 
lesser responsibleness of private corporate property, and 
the greater importance of dividends to their ow^ners, than 
attaches to national investments ? If there be not govern- 
ment ownership of foreign railways, is not government 
control among the causes of the safety alluded to ? We 
5* 



54 EXPENSES OF THATEL. 

are told that corporations have no souls. Very well. Why- 
then trust to them the lives and bodies of men ? Give to 
money corporations all sorts of banking and insurance 
powers and trusts. The money may be stolen or wasted. 
But it is never lost. It will come up again in new, and it 
may be better forms, or uses. But it is not so with men 
killed upon the railway. In this world is there no resur- 
rection of the dead ! 



EXPENSES OF TRAVEL. 

Something was said of the expenses of hotel life, and it 
was stated that these correspond with the character of the 
house, its situation, means, its whole general arrangements, 
and daily preparation for the accommodation of its guests. 
You may ask of the general cost of travel. Of this person- 
ally I can say little, I am almost wholly ignorant of the 
matter. I am not in any sense an economist, that is, one 
who pries into his condition before a settled plan of action. 
What is wanted, or desired, comes first, and then a small, 
thin blue covered volume is consulted, which has the fable 
of the means, and off I start. It was precisely in this way 
I tore myself from what you know, I always call my den, 
and left country and home. I was gone about five months, 

and spent dollars; viz., what was demanded, and 

without a question. I can give you no account of cost, for 
I never counted it. There are the bills nicely arranged, 
and a book all about them, in a drawer somewhere, which 
you may examine at any time. They are in all sorts of 
languages, Russian, Danish, Prussian, German, French, 
Spanish, with all the &c., &c., which may be necessary for 
dialects, and you will really please me a little to put them 
together, add them up, and tell me the result. I have, 
however, such perfect confidence in the Messrs. Baring, 
Brothers & Co., that not for a moment would I disturb the 
dust on their accounts ; and a like sentiment has kept me 



EXPENSES OF TRAVEL. 55 

from troubling the records of my business friends at borne. 
I take it for granted they are all right, and if they are not, 
I am positively sure that I could not be made to understand 
their errors. Requiescant in pace ! 

I am probably quite alone in this ignorance of expenses. 
The probably, is expletive. It was not used to take room, 
and the error in its use deserves correction. I never loved 
arithmetic, and am very happy to make the admission, and 
at the same time to pay those with whom I have business 
transactions the highest compliment which their questionless 
knowledge of the science of numbers can lay claim to. 
Others, however, who have the knowledge which I want, 
have given us the results of foreign travel in its connection 
with its expanses, and I hope they will pardon me for the 
use I make of their reports. The author of " Eleven Weeks 
in Europe," in the preface to his excellent volume, says : 

" I spent eleven weeks in Europe as follows : — 

" Four weeks in England. 

" Two weeks in France. 

" Three weeks in Switzerland. 

" One week on the Rhine. 

" One week in Belgium. 

" The places and objects in them seen, amount to nearly 
one hundred and twenty. Not only were they visited, 
being in several different kingdoms, and often widely separ- 
ated, but what they presented was carefully examined, and 
is described, and criticized. 

" The expenses of this trip (including state-rooms in 
packet to Europe, and in steamship to America) were six 
hundred dollars only. This includes everything for four 
months, from the day I left Boston till I landed there again. 

" There is nothing to excite the imagination in this state- 
ment, but it may be useful, and lead others to have the 
great improvement and enjoyment of a European tour, who 
perhaps, now think it demands more of time or of means 
than they can spare." 



56 EXPENSES OF TflAVEL. 

This statement is of great interest. The author speaks 
of state-rooms in packet and steamer. Now taking this 
literally as it stands, one cannot but be surprised at the re- 
sults. A state-room in a steamer costs $180 ; in a sailing 
ship, about #100, which exhausts nearly half the sum spent. 
But supposing a berth to be meant, then $120 for steamer, 
and $75 for packet, together with steward's fees, make 
$200, leaving $4C0 for Europe. How was it that so much 
was done with so small means ? Economy does not ex- 
plain it, especially in the narrow and for the most part false 
use of that excellent word, for the author saw everything 
worth seeing, and I will venture to add, he saw more of 
them, and more thoroughly too, than nine-tenths of travel- 
lers do who spend thousands on the grand tour, and who 
visit the Tower too. But how did he see and do all his 
book records ? By skill, knowledge, fore-knowledge, true 
science. He knew what he icanted to see, and saw it. Now 
I honor this knowledge, while I declare myself wholly ig- 
norant of the whole mystery. Nearly half a century ago, I 
went to Europe, to Great Britain, and never left that small 
island. 1 was gone more than a year indeed, and one of 
my voyages cost me nothing, and I spent in that territorial 
speck of Europe more than $2000, and when that sum would 
buy of everything almost double what it will now. I went 
abroad again the other day, and was absent about five 
months. I took money with me, and paid the outward pas- 
sage before leaving home, and had a letter of credit from 
the Messrs. Baring, for £1000. I confess to have spent 
some of ic ; but how much I did not know at the time, and 
have not learned since ; all I do know is, that I paid my 
debts. To be sure I went further than the author of the 
Eleven Weeks. I went from Boston to Moscow, from Mos- 
Qow to Madrid, and from Madrid came back to Boston, and 
I had a courier for three months, who cost me about the 
whole sum, and it may be more, than my friend paid for his 
whole trip. But for the courier, I have no doubt it would 



EXPENSES OF TRAVEL. S7 

have cost me more than did his services. He saved me 
money, and time, and care. But for him I know not what 
would have become of me. Twice I was lost, for Charles 
made a mistake of the trains, and I found myself alone, once 
in Belgium, and once in the Grand Duchy of Wurtemburg. 
If he had not come up in a succeeding train, it is odds but I 
would have been to this day watching my luggage in the 
station in Brussels, or in the way-station near Stutgard. 

Travelling is a science. It is full of interest, but often 
the hardest work a man can do. It demands consummate 
skill to save money, time, strength. He that has it, can, 
with my excellent friend so often alluded to, see everything, 
and at a cost which his imagination may busy itself with, 
but will hardly or never understand, exclaiming, " It is too 
wonderful for me." 

Another friend "who was absent longer than was Mr. 

C , by nearly two months, told me that his expenses 

were less than Mr. C.'s. I was told of another who added 
economy to skill in a novel way. When he reached a place, 
by water, for instance, he lived in the ship until he had 
cleared his luggage, and until he had so arranged matters 
that he could pass directly to his next conveyance for con- 
tinued travel. The force of system could hardly farther go. 
I should think such a traveller might almost go for nothing. 
It were to be most useful if our friends who have so much 
skill in travel, would give us their methods, state that, 
and those things, by which such skill so declares itself. 
Whether, for instance, they ride, drive, or walk. Change 
of place demanding motion, the traveller can hardly stand, 
or sit still. Then as to diet. Travellers always eat more 
than is useful, or needed. The '' money's worth " strongly 
pertains to the calling, and it may be, this is the explanation 
of the appetite here " growing by what it feeds on." 
Where there is smaller expenditure, eating may be conform- 
able. Then as to the physical system. How is the 
strength ? Does that too, like appetite, increase by use ? 



58 LUGGAGE. 

There is something to the popular mind so mysterious in 
these results from the small means employed ; so much 
distance accomplished in so short a time, and almost with- 
out any money at all, that no one who drives in an omnibus 
to Roxbury, need to give a second thought about the prac- 
ticableness of foreign travel under any circumstances, and 
enjoy the pleasure and profit which is so kindly held out in 
the last paragraphs above quoted. 



LUGGAGE. 

Something was said above about luggage. This is as 
serious an impediment to travellers as to armies. This to 
me was a frequent annoyance, especially in parts where the 
Zolverein has not been entered into, and where independent 
empires are as thick as blackberries, every one of which 
depends for revenue much upon the duties paid by travellers, 
or rather the tricks practised on them on account of luggage. 
Who can forget the annoyance of the German principalities, 
practised through their customs' agents upon travellers, to 
say nothing of the expense. Why these functionaries plunge 
their rude fingers and hands into the mysteries of trunk, 
valise, carpet-bag, &c., and bring forth " things, new and 
old," clean or otherwise, with as much complacency as 
did Noah open his ark door to let its various people and 
things come, or be brought out. The bribe of the courier 
will do something to mitigate the sufficiency of such a 
search, but it is bad enough where only the least is done. 
It was a caution to see the enormous trunks, or chests, of 
ladies of rank and fashion, on their way to watering places, 
or what not, — to see them opened, and their beautiful, 
almost sublime, contents brought to light, as varied in 
colour as were Sir Charles Grandison's chambers, and of 
material as gorgeous as useful. How often have I seen all 
these on the ample counters, tray after tray taken out, and 
put down, as if the health of the mighty state depended on 



LUGGAGE. 59 

the character of their contents. Who can exaggerate the 
value and the trouble of such possessions. The ladies 
themselves were patterns of their order. They were per- 
fectly quiet, and looked gently on as the masculine handling 
proceeded. You instinctively honoured the German inter- 
nal force in this becoming and beautiful outward expression. 

He is the wisest traveller who is the least burdened. A 
carpet-bag and an umbrella is luggage enough for any body. 
And how happiest is he, who to this adds or enjoys that 
facility of appetite which is abundantly satisfied with the 
hips and haws of the wayside, gathered without stopping ; 
and his thirst from the " running brooks," — finding good 
and truth " in everything." Talk of the post-chaise of 
the olden time, and of the first class of the latter. Why, 
to our friend, legs are of almost exhaustless power, and 
when wearied, find means of repaired strength in the first 
field, and rest for the night under any tree. 

Dr. Paris in his admirable life of Mr., afterwards Sir 
Humphrey Davy, among other habits of Mr. D., describes 
one which had saving of time and convenience, and comfort 
for its object. Mr. Davy was often invited abroad, to dine 
for instance. He kept in his private room in the Royal 
Institution (at which it was my privilege often to hear him 
lecture in my first residence in London) a small wardrobe 
which might serve him when the time for going to an 
engagement, found him with his toilet unmade. His 
course now was to take off coat and vest, and put on an 
unused shirt over the one in wear. This would he do until 
at length he sometimes had on six shirts at once. Some- 
thing of the same kind extended to Mr. Davy's personal 
hosiery. Now suppose the traveller to put on six shirts at 
starting, and to take one off every other day ; six would last 
him the steamer's voyage. If he were very sea-sick, he 
would not probably change as often, and so would be in 
full dress upon reaching Liverpool, and London too, if he 
went on next day. Let him take then a valise long enough 



60 LUGGAGE. 

to take a dress-coat doubled once, and nothing else, literally 
nothing else. In some visits the dress-coat is indispensable. 
If you mean to visit the Hermitage, you must have one. 
Mine cost me five or six guineas in London. Watson made 
it ; and I have literally not worn it a dozen times. I will 
sell it to you for less than half-price. It is throughout 
lined with the best silk, with the richest velvet where this 
should be. No carpet-bag, umbrella, cane, &c. With the 
coat, take a dress vest and under-clothes. A healthy man 
never need wear flannel next the skin, or next but one. It 
is a superfluity, and tends by its relaxing, enervating agency, 
to produce the maladies sought to be avoided by it. Take 
no dickies, the unshaven chin and neck both naturally, and 
admirably, supply their place. Very distinguished men 
never wear the dicky. A good stout stock may be tolerated, 
if the beard be too high an auburn, for individual taste. 
The rooin for shaving tools is thus saved. Other articles 
of costume take too little room for special provision. You 
§ow have full half your valise for accidents, — for instance, 
the laundry demands. I made a great mistake in all these 
matters. I took valise, carpet-bag, umbrella, and added, 
abroad, a hat case and a bundle. The trouble is great, and 
quite as great is the consequent expense. Your courier, if 
you have one, must carry his own traps. A porter must 
carry yours, and he must be paid, and for everything separ- 
ately. The credit must be short. The bell, or whistle of the 
train, warns you to run, and you must either " run the toll," 
a difficult thing, or pay on demand. Now to avoid infinite 
trouble, the following rule may suffice : — 

Get a nice, thoroughly made travelling suit of grey ; 
coat, vest and pants, of the same cloth ; a fair dress suit, 
and six specimens of each of other "articles, shirts, &c. A 
moderate sized valise will hold the whole. A good hat and 
a cap. The cap to be light and compressible, so as to be 
easily accommodated in the hat, when that is in wearing. 
A light, but well made silk umbrella. In the train hang 



PASSPORT SYSTEM. 61 

up the hat, and Avear the cap. In your travelling coat, — 
a shooting jacket is its best form, — have as many pockets 
as possible ; in mine were seven, and all Avere in use. A 
good over-coat, or shawl, or both. At sea wear a worn 
suit. At Liverpool go to the Waterloo, an excellent hotel, 
and leave your clothes in a bag with your name, in care of the 
old porter, Avho of course never dies, and you will get it safe 
and sound when you come there again. I certainly did. 
If you have a courier, be sure to stipulate as to the amount 
of his luggage. They are a wandering race, and, like the 
snail, carry all their clothing or covering with them. As this 
pays by the pound, weight is an important matter to be 
attended to at starting, or rather before finally engaging a 
courier. To show you with how little luggage one may 
get along, I will add that I knew a man, a man of sub- 
stance, who prefers to board and lodge, than to keep house, 
who literally has no other luggage or furmtiire than what 
he can carry in a carpet-bag. That, and his umbrella, make 
his whole stock in trade. Diogenes beat him, for he lived 
in a tub, and so took his house as well as furniture about 
with him. 



PASSPORT SYSTEM. 

This frets some American travellers dreadfully. They do 
not choose to be called on half a dozen times a day, as may 
chance in parts of Germany, for name, height, &c., set forth 
in the passport. Now this system never troubled me, and 
you see into how many empires, kingdoms, dukedoms, and 
Avhat not, it was my choice to enter. It being my choice to 
do so, it never fretted me to comply with the conditions. 
There was some ceremony in Russia, which once required 
me to stop an hour or two in a public office, and once in 
Spain I was put to a little inconvenience. But except these 
instances there was no trouble whatever. You reach a 
6 



62 PASSPOBT SYSTEM. 

border town, or a new state. You deliver, or better, your 
courier hands your passport to an officer who comes to re- 
ceive it. You either receive it again at once, or send for it 
in the morning. This is the whole story. In America 
there is no passport trouble. I have heard of annoyances 
which to some are quite as disagreeable to some native 
travellers as is the foreign passport system to the stranger. 
I speak not from experience, since my whole American 
travel was to Philadelphia, nearly half a century ago, and 
to Augusta in Maine, about a quarter century afterwards. 
I have never been a step farther, and I do not think I shall 
ever go so far again. The only annoyance of my travelled 
life was in London. I went with some friends to the Alien 
Office, I think then in Crown Court, Soho, and not far from 
the Parliament House. It was to get my passport which 
had been deposited there when I first reached London. I 
got a permit to remain upon the sole condition that I should 
get it renewed every three months, however inconvenient 
that might be. To depart, it was necessary to get back my 
deposited passport, and a permit to leave the kingdom. 
Well, I reached the office, and read a notice, that " no fees 
are to he paid in this ojice.'' My friends went to the table, 
and having laid half a crown before the officer, were at once 
showed into the interior of the establishment, and got their 
" papers." I would not pay a fee. I asked to be showed 
in. " Wait," said the man with a very scarlet coloured, 
bristling head of hair. I applied again. " Wait," said he of 
the light auburn. At length I would wait no more, and 
with quick step opened a green baize door, and then two 
more of the same, and found myself in a room full of clerks 
at their desks. I hardly had time to demand my passport, 
when he of the ante-room entered, his face redder than his 
head, and in great heat, said that I had broken the rules of 

the office, and out of turn had forced myself in. A d 

lie, as would have ejaculated. I was forthwith 

driven out of the office. I was more especially anxious to get 



PASSPORT SYSTEM. 63 

away, as I had a ticket from a member of Parliament to the 
gallery of the House, and Henry Grattan was to speak that 
night on the Reform Bill. It was important to go early to 
get a good seat, and it was late in the afternoon. I heard 
the speech, one of the most eloquent I had ever heard, and 
which occupied the whole night's session. 

As early next morning as ceremony allowed, I went to 
the minister's, Mr. Pinkney, to whom Mr. Gore, his pre- 
decessor, had given me a letter, and told my story. I got 
a letter to Mr. Reeves, the head of the Alien Bureau. A 
large letter was it, with the broad eagle on the envelope. 
I next went again to Crown Court. As soon as he of the 
burning head saw the address, he became an altered man. 
He was as gentle as two lambs, — begged me to sit down, — 
went into the office, — returned and said Mr. Reeves was in 
the country, and would return Monday morning (this was 
Saturday), — that everything would be ready, &;c., &c. On 
Monday I went. Apologies were as thick as blackberries, 
and regrets to suit. My passport was ready. It was made 
out for Gravesend. Suppose, asked I, I sail from some 
other port. " All you need do," was the reply, "is to let 
us know by mail, and a new permit shall be sent to you." 
And amidst bows I left Crown Court, Soho, forever. I 
have been to London since, but did not make the Alien 
Office a visit. It now belongs only to history. 

You ask, how long I was detained. More than half an 
hour. There was no chair in the room. It had lately 
rained, and the floor was soaking wet, with deep mud to 
boot. One after another came in, put down their money in 
the face of the government order against fees, and were at 
once showed in. I was provoked, I suppose, bat I said not 
a word, except two or three times to learn if I might go in 
to the office. No. I behaved very well, and deserved bet- 
ter treatment. 

Such has been my experience of the passport system in its 
vexatious phase. On the continent it gave me not the least 



64 PASSPOHT SYSTEM. 

annoyance. I shall not forget Mr. Gore's letter, nor his 
continued courtesy, and kindness after my return from 
Europe. It is grateful to look back over so many years, 
and to recollect a gentleman whose character and manners 
were formed in a noble day of the republic, and who did 
not lose them in the succeeding years. 



ART. 65 



ART 



You know I have always expressed an interest in Art, as 
declared in poetry, painting, sculpture, and architecture. 
Abundant opportunities have occurred abroad to gratify this 
interest. Art has a place in the following pages. It works 
from the moral, the intellectual, the religious, just as does 
literature. Art is literature teaching by example. Its 
works have the same sources as do books. They differ 
only in the material used, or mode of expression. Their 
language, in other words, differs, but they speak equally 
from and to the mind. Art is essentially re;)resentative. 
Look at architecture, and we have an illustration of our 
thought. A Gothic cathedral, what is it but an expression 
of trains of thought, — an epic, with its beginning, middle, 
and end ? It existed in the artist's, — its author's mind as 
a whole, — a divine harmony fusing its parts or members 
into one. I have spoken of the works of art as intellectual 
creations, the outward expression of thought acting upon 
the beholder in their beauty, their truth, and authority, and 
meeting all intellectual demands — his thought — himself. 
The special culture which art demands for its best enjoy- 
ment and influences, can only come of the study of its 
works. No nation is complete, or a whole, which does not 
furnish to itself the best means of the highest culture. The 
gallery and literature must be close neighbours, or better, 
companions, and as free to the people, the whole people, as 
are the light and the air, for like these they can only do 
good. Yes, bless the whole state. There is seme diversity 
of opinion on this subject; but this is true of every other 
matter of interest. I have offered my own views concern- 
ing it. 

Just as this manuscript was going to the press, I met 
with the following views of Art in Lewes' admirable " Life 
6* 



66 A.RT. 

of Goethe," and if you have already read it, I am sure 
you will pardon me for bringing it before you again : — 

" It is necessary for the development of science ihii science should 
cease to be the speculation of a few, and become the minister of the 
many ; from the constant pressure of unsatisfied waris science receives 
its energetic stimulus and its highest reward. In art the same law 
holds. In Athens the whole nation co-operated with the artists, and 
this is one cause why Athenian art rose into unsurpassed splendor. 
Art was not the occupation of a few, ministering to the luxury of a few. 
It was the luxury of all. Its triumphs were not hidden in galleries 
and museums ; they blazed in the noonday sun, they were admired and 
criticized by the whole people, and, as Aristotle expressly says, every 
free citizen was from youth upwards a critic of art. Sophocles wrote 
for all Athens, and by all Athens was applauded. The theatre was 
open to all free citizens. Phidias and Praxiteles, Scopas and Myron, 
wrought their marvels in brass and marble as expressions of a national 
faith, and as delights of a national mind. Temples and market-places, 
public groves and public walks, were the galleries wherein these sculp- 
tors placed their works. The public treasury was liberal in its rewards, 
and the rivalry of private munificence was not displayed to secure 
works for private galleries, but to enrich the public possessions. The 
citizens of Gnidos chose to continue the payment of an onerous tribute 
rather than suffer their statue of Venus to quit their city. And when 
some murmurs rose against the expense which Pericles was incurring 
in the building of the Parthenon, he silenced those murmurs by the 
threat of furnishing the money from his private purse, and then placing 
his name on the majestic work." * 

We are told we have not time in the republic for excel- 
lence in art, if we possessed the means. Now it is not 
necessary that we should know the mysteries of art — the 
method of the painter in producing his effects, or commu- 
nicating thought — to know how he used his colors, in 
order to feel the picture. It has that in it which meets the 
demand of the mind of the observer, so far as the mind can 
enjoy the sublime or the beautiful. The pleasure is felt, 
and when this is the case, its sources need not be matters 
of a moment's thought. The truth of the work, the fidelity 
with which the story is told, is felt ; and more than this is 

* Life and Works of Goethe. By G. H. Lewes. Vol. I. pp. 337, 338. 



ART. 67 

not necessary to the fullest enjoyment. I recollect listening 
to a mathematician, while discussing the doctrine of chances 
in the productions of astronomical phenomena — the places 
of the heavenly bodies, &c. Now of mathematics I am 
wholly ignorant. Of its principles and reasoning, I know 
nothing ; and yet I listened to the distinguished professor 
with intense interest. There was true eloquence in this 
cold, dead demonstration. The eloquence was in the 
questionless truths uttered. I believed in what I in no 
sense understood. The ungainly scratches on the black- 
board had their power, for in them was wrapt up, and out 
of them came the power of the speaker. Art has its power 
in its truth. In architecture it obeys its laws. Perspective 
has its authority and laws, in those of optics mathemati- 
cally determined. So it is with nature — form, place, light, 
shade, are strictly arbitrary in all the dispositions made of 
them in art. Truth thus is the source of beauty — of its 
perception and enjoyment — or taste. This is the fact. 
The pJiilosophy may never appear. To one near me at the 
mathematical discussion above alluded to, I spoke of the 
pleasure with which I had listened to a course of reasoning, of 
the processes, nay, the language of which I knew nothing. 
I cannot tell you how amused was he at my statement. 
He could not understand a word I said. Now, how little 
do we know of things which give us the truest pleasure. 
What do we know of the growth of that flower beneath our 
feet, — of the processes of development which have produced 
so much beauty ? We know nothing about them. 

Consider the lilies of the fields how they grow ; they toil 
not, neither do they spin. And yet I say unto you, that even 
Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. 



68 THE AMERICAN IN EUROPE. 



THE AMERICAN IN EUROPE. 

The American in Europe stands in the centre of the 
world's civilization. Everything is new. He is in the 
presence of much which remains of the remotest times. 
He is surrounded by ancient states — by states in them- 
selves old, and the depositaries of the earliest art, science, 
literature : 

Surviving legatees of nations dead. 

He may learn something of the life of the earlier times. 
He sees in the exhumations of long buried and forgotten 
Pompeii and Herculaneum, and the Scandinavian tumuli, 
how often the latest contributions of modern art to every- 
day social, individual, and domestic comfort, use, luxury, 
have been anticipated centuries ago. He is in the presence 
of the gigantic Avorks of ancient art, recently brought from 
Nineveh, and in them finds new arguments for, and illus- 
tration of, sacred history. He looks with surprise at the 
amount of labour, money, skill, which has been used to 
preserve in unbroken continuity the works of man in all 
ages, for the instruction and pleasure of the present and 
for the future. These works inhabit palaces, and in regal 
state receive the traveller. They have survived revolutions, 
civil, and foreign wars. They have sometimes been removed 
from their native home. But how surely have they, by re- 
conquest or by treaty, found their way back again. Few 
things surprised me more than the care and labour bestowed 
upon the treasures of the mind in every part of Europe. 
In Paris an object of profound interest was to me the 
church of Notre Dame. How deep was its desecration by 
the Revolution. Its magnificent exterior, overloaded by the 
products of exquisite art, remains much as it was before 
that terrible passage in French history. But the interior 
presented to me the skeleton only of its former glory. 



THE AMERICAN IN EUROPE. 69 

Naked pillars of immense size, supporting splendid arches, 
and the deep wrought ceiling, were there ; but all that 
could be destroyed was gone. 

I went to the Louvre, and here were the works of art of 
all times in perfect preservation. The Revolution did not 
touch them. There they are for the love and admiration 
of France, and of the world. The voice of both past and 
present appeals to the ever coming future, that these trea- 
sures may remain forever. 

The intellectual and moral impressions produced by such 
fact and such history are to the American traveller new. 
He has never before been within their reach. He is con- 
scious of wider thought, deeper pleasure, higher aspirations. 
He is glad to be where he is, because he has been made 
conscious of means of a higher growth than he may have 
dreamed of before. He learns, and it may be, for the first 
time, or after a manner never felt before, of moral and intel- 
lectual power by the sure evidences of his own senses, and 
by the new currents of thought which have been stirred 
within him. He learns more of his own intellectual en- 
dowment, and instinctively comes to regard his own nature 
by the sure revelations of the same power which exist 
around him, and in such profusion as to establish rules to 
which he meets no exceptions. This does a man good. 
The new here is a real good. Reverence comes of it. The 
apprehension of beauty and of true power has in it a love 
of them ; and he who truly values moral or intellectual 
greatness, as displayed by another, may reverence himself. 

The traveller feels that what is around him in art, is in 
some sense his own. The thought to which it gave birth 
is his own thought, making subjective, the external, the 
representative, — a part of his spiritual possession, and that 
forever. It comes to him by association wherever he may 
be, — a visiting angel, with a new message of the beautiful. 



70 HANK. 



RANK. 

The American traveller abroad is brought within the 
influence of a power which he has never so felt before. 
This is rank. Rank there is not a convention — an accident 

— which may be, or may not be, any or everywhere. It 
reaches to every human being in the state. Said Frederick 
surnamed the Great, " A king is only the first subject." 
Frederick was a tyrant of the first water — unmixed. He 
had no council, the only autocrat of the civilized world 
who has not in some measure relied upon one. He was a 
pedant, — a man of vast and various knowledge, and of 
much facility and felicity of speech and writing. What 
wiser or truer saying of his than the above quotation? 
Rank is an institution. It has its being in constitutions of 
government. From emperor or king, down to the humblest 
subject, political and social position is a settled thing in 
countries in which rank enters as an element. It is never 
impertinent, for it is always in place. It is not in itself 
tyrannical, for it simply determines beforehand what position 
or condition is ; and comes to be accepted as an institution 
which has existed ages before him, who has most recently 
become its subject. Its elements are obedience, deference, 
or respect, and its natural growth is courtesy. Its institu- 
tion supposes that its elements are essential to the highest 
national development, or civilization. It becomes habitual in 
its influences, and hence is not necessarily an incumbrance, 

— an institution which is offensive, or disagreeable in any of 
its legitimate uses. Rank determines place. It settles for 
each his position. Each knows the ground he stands on. 
It begins in the supreme, the king, the president, or what 
not, and reaches everywhere. What is a king ? We have 
above a king's definition of one. He is governed by the 
very law to which he puts his name. He is responsible, not- 
withstanding the current fiction that he can do no harm, — 



RANK. 71 

he is responsible for every day, and for all he does in every 
day. He is the hardest worked man in the state. He 
owns nothing, but what he may, as do others, make by his 
own business and financial skill, — by agriculture, as did 
George III., or by the stocks, as did Louis Phillippe, and as 
do other men. Everything else belongs to the state, and 
so does he. Truly, " the king is only the first subject." 

In its nature rank ever presents something for aspira- 
tion, hope, enterprise. History teaches how free it has 
been to all. Look into English history, and in what gov- 
ernment beneath the skies has rank truer place ? You see 
at once the argument and the proof of the wide entrance to 
rank, position, condition, in their highest development which 
exists there. The bench contributes to the peerage by addi- 
tions from the courts, and how often have the most elevated 
of these accessions come up from the humblest classes of 
life. Art, science, literature, minister to the same political and 
social fact — rank ; and so does industry in companionship 
with moral and intellectual growth, in finding its success in 
these, come to the possession, and often inheritance of the 
highest rank and the most honoured service. What is curious 
is this, that rank with all its promises, and enchantments, is 
not unfrequently declined, and by those, too, who best 
deserve its highest distinctions. Burke declined the peerage, 
and so did Pitt, and Peel, and so have others. Such men 
holding their patent of nobility from a higher than a regal 
hand, declined the earthly honor. Peel did more, — he left it 
in his will that no descendant of his, who was included in 
his last testament, should ever accept the peerage, making 
the observance of this the condition of inheritance. As a 
commoner of England, Mr. Peel became in time the leader 
of the House of Commons, and was the author of most im- 
portant reforms. This he regarded as the highest position 
in the monarchy.* The same feeling is widely felt. Men 

* See Appendix. No. I. 



7^2 HANK. 

of the largest wealth and power are devoting hoth to public 
interests. Labour is becoming more and more emphatic in its 
demands, and its claims are more and more allowed. Emi- 
gration has diminished the amount of wasted or unused 
power in England, and given to those who keep at home 
wider and more remunerative occupation. What England 
has done, and is doing in these important regards, is known 
and felt everywhere abroad. England is too near the neigh- 
bouring and remoter despotisms not to be seen and heard. 
Its mighty lessons must reach and be read everywhere. 

How different the estimate of rank in other minds, and 
master minds too, from that of the distinguished examples 
just enumerated. Walter Scott filled the world with his 
fame, making the human intellect and heart, now and for- 
ever his debtor. Walter Scott pined for rank. To found a 
family, to leave the sure evidence of his having made 
such a memorial of himself, was the object of his life. For 
this was Abbotsford re-created, and for the means of its 
completion, or perfection, did he devote much of his noble 
intellect. One anecdote illustrative of this passion for rank 
in Walter Scott may be given here. The eldest son of the 
Duke of Buccleuch, a Scott, had nearly reached his majority, 
and arrangements were made to celebrate this event in all the 
country side. Walter Scott was invited as a relative of the 
ducal family, — a member of the house. It was told to 
me that he had expressed a deeper satisfaction with this dis- 
tinction than with all his fame. Some hold rank in con- 
tempt. They would sooner be rude than accord it respect. 
But the most violent of such, if they have any power, daily 
demand for it fealty ; daily feel its influence in themselves. 
The modes of address abroad show the relation of the 
server to the served. This early attracted my attention. 
I travelled a few days on the continent with an English 
gentleman who was travelling with a person I took for his 

companion. I asked him one day where Mr. was. Said 

he, " My master is out, sir, but he will soon return." I was 



KANK. 73 

struck with this language, because as we do not admit the 
difference, we do not use the nomenclature. And yet where 
or when has it happened that he who serves was not a ser- 
vant ? He does what another bids him to do, and this exer- 
cise of power is everywhere. The President of the United 
States of America is servant in chief. The Congress man, 
and all state legislators are the people's servants. In some 
cases the relation between server and served may seem to 
be changed amongst us, — he who serves having the higher 
rate. But even here we see it is humour rather than fact. 
The anecdote of the Duke of Saxe Weimar comes to mind. 
He was travelling in America, you know, and had taken a 
place in a stage. When the time came to start, the driver 
came to him saying, " If you be the man who is going in the 
stage, I am the gentleman what's going to drive you." A 
later instance in my own experience. One wished to send a 
letter by an omnibus driver to a near village. He handed 
it to a man he supposed the driver. The man said, " That 
is the gentleman who drives the omnibus," crying out in the 
same breath, " I say, this man wants you to carry this letter." 
I said humour, above. But there is no denial of rank in 
these instances. The persons addressed were officials, and 
in no country are such distinctions more sincerely felt, — 
where a positive recognition of them more strongly exists, 
or where they are more tenaciously held to. " Once a gov- 
ernor always a governor." Society, with its conditions, is 
not a horizontal line, nor can you make it one, theorize or 
legislate as you may. It is an undulating circle, never for a 
moment stationary, and by all sorts of possible changes, as 
revolutions, involutions, fortune, and what not, presenting 
every possible phase in position and estimation. "We are 
never in the same stay." Death is a fact in the mighty his- 
tory, — the frequent friend of those which compose it. Is it 
not the most common ? and what a scoffer is it of rank, — of 
the whole social and personal ? yet the circle is not broken 
even by death. The successor is ready for the inheritance ; 
7 



74 HANK. 

and if there be none, the elective attractions of society at 
once fill the gap, the break being repaired before it is dis- 
covered or felt. The king here never dies. 

The following is an extract from Lord Derby's speech 
lately made at a dinner given by the Lord Mayor of London. 
You may think, and I am inclined to agree with you, that it 
makes unnecessary much which immediately precedes it. 
But as that is a part of the journal, I have retained it. The 
use he has made of his position and powers, give to his 
remarks the highest authority, I cannot forget that many 
years ago, if my memory serve, I had the pleasure to meet 
more than once at a friend's house in Boston, Lord Derby, 
then Mr. Stanley. Mr. Stanley was then travelling in the 
United States with his friends Mr. Wortley, Mr. Labouchere, 
and Mr. Dennison, each of whom has since distinguished 
himself in the councils of his countiy : 

" It is no duty of miBe to stand up for every decision at which the 
House of Lords may have arrived, for frequently it has been my lot to 
be in a minority there ; but I do believe that in the main that house, 
although not directly, yet as fully represents the matured public opin- 
ion of this country as does that other branch of the legislature 
which is immediately returned by the popular voice (ch-ers) ; and, 
although the second estate of the realm may be looked upon as a con- 
stitutional drag on too rapid progress in legislation, I believe that in 
the end it will identify itself with what it feels to be the well-established 
wishes of the country. And although it is true, as has been remarked 
by the Lord Mayor, that among the members of the upper house are 
many who have to sustain the honors and responsibility of ancient and 
historic names, it is not less true that, differing in this respect from the 
nobility of every other civilized country in the world, the peerage of 
England is refreshed and invigorated, and derives new blood, so to 
speak, from a constant infusion of members of the commonalty who 
have not inherited historic titles, but who have won renown for them- 
selves and achieved names destined to live in the future history of 
their country. I doubt not that if an examination were made it would 
be found that not less than one-half of the existing House of Lordo con- 
sists of men who, from various causes, whether on account of distin- 
guished services or by reason of more or less merit on their own part, 
or on that of their immediate predecessors, have risen from the ranks 



NEWS. ■ 75 

of commoners to the dignity of peers of tho realm in the course of the 
present century. On the other hand, when we come to the second 
generation we find that there is no peer so high in rank, or so ancient 
in lineage, but that the younger branches of his family mingle again 
with the commons, and thus, rising from the people, and continually 
returning to them, a common interest is kept up between various 
branches of this great community, and together we work out this great 
problem, the maintenance of order and a distinction of ranks, accom- 
panied by perfect equality of right, cordial sympathy, and complete 
harmony of action. This is the task which I believe the House of 
Lords is destined to perform in the constitutional history of this nation. 
I do not pretend to say that it is not subject to imperfections. I will 
not be guilty of the presumption of asserting that it does not, like all 
other human institutions, occasionally fall short of its duty ; but this 
I venture to affirm, that in the main it does honestly and usefully per- 
form its allotted task in this country. I believe that the attainments of 
a peerage will long continue to be the prize and object of honest am- 
bition, and the highest reward that can be conferred for the most 
brilliant services rendered to the commonwealth. Within the last few 
days the House of Lords has received an accession of which it may well 
be proud, in the person of a gallant and distinguished naval officer — 
and, indeed, it may safely be asserted that few years pass in which 
that house is not strengthened and made more illustrious by the ad- 
mission of some person who, whether in the law, in the army, in the 
navy, or in political life, has done his country good service, and who 
reaps a recompense of which he and his successors may fairly boast, in 
associating with the peers of the realm, and in transmitting to his 
posterity a name rendered illustrious by the founder of the family, and 
one which carries with it the responsibility of not disgracing that name 
in time to come. 



NEWS. 

In my wandering from Moscow to Madrid, I stopped in 
Paris. From leaving London to the time I reached Paris, 
I had hardly heard a word from home. But I now got 
news. By far the most important was a report in a paper 
that there was a good chance of a collision between England 
and America concerning certain uncanght codfish, the inhabit- 
ants of certain waters which seemed to belong as much to one 



76 NEWS. 

man, or one nation as to another, and no more to either, than 
does any one portion of the deep blue sky which covers said 
waters. But a war might come of the fish, and to make 
this more probable, a naval force had been sent to the fish- 
ing ground by England, and America would send one as 
soon as it could be got ready. What to make of all this I 
could not tell. At first it seemed to be only a " fish 
story," but it daily gained strength. When seriously 
looked at as a thing which might possibly happen, I cannot 
tell you the feelings which came from the imperfect reve- 
lation. Learning that at that moment the situation of 
England was supposed to be such in regard to a neighbour 
continental power as to demand the utmost vigilance — that 
under the Iron Duke it was strengthening its defences 
through the whole line of its coast — that it was adding 
daily to its navy and army. I cannot express the feelings 
which arose upon hearing that America should find occasion 
in any existing state of relations between itself and England 
for war, especially at a time when its sole colleague in con- 
stitutional liberty was preparing itself, it might be, for a 
continental war. I recollected the war of 1812, declared by 
America against England, when this last, at her utmost need, 
was preparing by one more effort to put a stop to the pro- 
gress of a despotism which was mowing down nations ; and 
with which America was said to be in close political sym- 
pathy. I remembered the administration which made that 
war, and the party which opposed it. The latter had 
always seen in England, and through its whole history, an 
infusion of the life, the heart, the spirit of freedom unknown 
to any other foreign power. In its long struggles with 
continental despotism it had always fought for freedom. 
Hence the sympathy of the party which opposed the war of 
1812. It v/as even said that the same party had clogged 
that war in every day of its history. It had watched the 
progress of France, and of its Emperor, with the deepest 
anxiety. It had felt the power of the Berlin and Milan 



NEWS. 77 

Decrees, wliicli had produced the Orders in Council, the 
upper and nether millstones, between which the commerce 
of America had been well nigh crushed. The party which, 
as it was alleged, had felt thus towards England in 1812, 
and which was denounced as a traitor party, — as feeling 
that such treason was infinitely better than the current — 
so called patriotism, — this party was now in power, and had 
made this demonstration concerning fish, and against Eng- 
land. How is it possible, I asked, for this party, the resi- 
duary legatee of the old Federalism, the steady friend of 
England, to think for a moment of making such a war ? I 
learned that there was an American in Paris, who was the 
most likely to know all about the matter, and that he was 
at Meurice's, a few doors only from the Brighton, my hotel. 
This gentleman was the late Hon. David Henshaw, and 
upon him I at once called. I found Mr. Henshaw in most 
wretched health, incurably lame, — almost unable of himself 
to move. Though so crippled, Mr. Henshaw so success- 
fully overcame pain and all, as to be one of the most zealous 
and practical sight-seers of Paris. His manner of getting 
about was characteristic. He got a wheeled chair, and 
taking this with him, he would have it carried into the 
Louvre, for instance, and in it be wheeled through the 
galleries, taking the deepest pleasure in their treasures. 
Here was the " Pursuit of Pleasure under Difficulties," 
in a new and striking example, and you could not but 
respect an effort which had so much suffering in its accom- 
plishment. Such was Mr. Henshaw' s bodily state. But 
his mind was as strong, as bright, as clear, as ever it was. 
He spoke of America with an energy and knowledge which 
amounted to the best eloquence. He seemed to have for- 
gotten party, or had so far escaped its power, that he could 
talk of the men of his own, — of the earlier, and the present 
time, as of those with whom he had no other connection 
than true conditions, real facts established, and over which 
prejudice had no power. He spoke ^s a man, *' without 
7* 



YB news. 

his accidents," — as the historian of times in which had 
been his life. He spoke of Mr. Webster as of one with 
whom he had been long acquainted, — with whom he had 
talked often and deeply, and with whom he had freely cor- 
responded. He spoke of his vast intellectual power, and of 
his official failures. He instanced the case of the Caroline, 
and the Ashburton treaty, and showed in what, as he 
thought, Mr. Webster had been mistaken in regard to both. 
He went into the earlier times of the country's politics — 
the long, long portion of its history in which his own party 
had rule — of what it had done — of the old opposition to 
it — and of the present approbation of the whole — of the 
Louisiana purchase — the Florida treaty — the war of 1812 
— the annexation of Texas — the Mexican war — California, 
&c. &c. ; and finally, of the wisdom of his party friends, 
of their prophetic foresight, and the universal fulfilment of 
the prophecy. We talked of General Andrew Jackson, that 
distinguished President, Avho ruled America by an indomita- 
ble will, whose pathway to power was through a war in 
which he was the chiefest actor, and in which he achieved 
the most important and celebrated victory. I recollected 
a conversation between two political enemies of General 
Jackson, in which one questioned his intellectual power. 
"Very well. Sir," said the other, " you may say what you 
will of his power, but I cannot but think that he who 
having put down his foot, more than twenty million of 
people cannot lift it up, has something in him." I 
could not help thinking of the agency of Mr. Henshaw in 
the " Removal of the Deposites " by President Jackson, a 
measure which took the public treasure from the charge of a 
man in whom he had no confidence, and in the sequel of 
which his sagacity and practical wisdom was so signally dis- 
played, but which measure was regarded by his enemies as 
an exercise of mere naked power ; an act wholly tyrannical. 
Washington ruled by moral power, strong common sense, 
and unsurpassed wisdom. Washington was the Father of 



NEWS. 79 

his country, and had a nation's reverence, and a nation's 
love. Washington and Jackson are the only rulers of 
America, since George III. 

I listened with great pleasure and interest to Mr. Hen- 
shavv's living history, and stated to him the object of my 
call, — my wish to pay to him my respects, and to learn 
what was to be expected from the warlike demonstrations 
of America against England, or of the last against the first, 
in their far off borders. I said I had been long without 
news from America, that I knew nothing about the " fish 
story," that I was on my way from Moscow to Madrid, and 
wished to learn from him if there were any political obstacles 
in the way to my accomplishing my purpose, — any chances 
of war. His answer was prompt and decided. He said 
there was no reason in the world to look for war, that the 
whole matter would be peaceably adjusted, that I might go 
to Madrid and feel sure of getting back to America at the 
time I had arranged for the completion of my Avander- 
ings. It has turned out just as this old politician pre- 
dicted. England and America sent their respective naval 
forces to the fishing grounds. But they had champaigne 
for powder, and feasting for fighting. Never did a naval 
service fare better, or hug closer. The only losses on the 
coast were by the poor fishermen, in whose cause the forces 
were sent. The navies held on. The fish fled. The re- 
sult, a great scarcity of codfish. "^^ 

* Since writing the above, I have received a copy of a " Memoir of 
the Hon. Abbott Lawrence," prepared for the Massachusetts Historical 
Society by Hon. Nathan Appleton, from which I make the following 
extract, p. 16. 

" In August, 1852, England was thrown into intense excitement, in 
consequence of a letter written by Mr. Webster on the subject of the 
new ground taken by Great Britain in reference to the Fisheries. This 
led to several interviews between Mr, Lawrence and Lord Malmesbury. 
The result was such a modification of the instructions to the vessels on 
the station, as prevented any collision." 



80 TALK IN PARIS. 



TALK IN PARIS. 

I have just given an account of a very pleasant and use- 
ful conversation with a perfectly well informed man in Paris, 
and will next give you two other conversations with two 
ladies in the same great city. I was one morning sitting in 
the reception room of an artist, in Grammont street, out of 
the Boulevards, when a lady and gentleman came in. She 
was young, not too fat, very fair, and certainly not forty. 

Mr. was of maturer years, far from handsome, having 

that hard sort of face — those stiff muscles, which come of 
having been used in the service of one expression, which 
was not the most agreeable, and which could not be very 
readily laid aside by the wearer, and the impression of 
which would not be easily lost to the observer. The lady 
was in perfect contrast with all this, and became very agree- 
able to you, without exactly saying so. She was English. 

He was of the north ; I guessed a Dane. Mr. was to 

have his likeness sun-taken, after a new process. I was 
there for the same object. It was obviously to him a disci- 
pline. He hated — he shrank from it. It was not the first 
time. He said brokenly, — " that it was too bad ; " that he 
would not submit to it. After a time he came into the 

harness, gave his hat to Mrs. after a " my dear " or 

two, but would keep his cane, and slowly dragged into a 
next room for his sure martyrdom. More than once did Mrs. 

say, " Now do, do look pleasant. Sit at your ease, 

and have a good likeness taken." She sat at the end of the 
sofa, upon which lay a fan. My chair was next the same end 
of the sofa at which the lady sat. The morning was warm. 
I took the fan. It seemed courteous to offer to fan the 
lady, or I did it from instinct, which ordinarily is in such 
cases the best casuist. Conversation followed, and at 
length Paris became the subject. I spoke of it just as it 
moved me. I spoke of its infinite interest in the external, 



TALK I:N^ PARIS. 81 

both of persons and things, of its amusements, the perfect 
contentment of its people, the sunny side of everything in 
life which the great city presented, how easy was labor, and 

how sufficient its recompense. Mrs. said, slowly, 

" Yes, why yes, Paris was pleasant, that she must say, but 
there were no homes in Paris. Such a word, which the 
English so love, and so well understood, was not in the 
French vocabulary. I could never live in Paris." 

I said in reply, that I could not agree with her. Her 
long speech had heated her. I fanned her again. Said I, 
to the French, Paris is home, life, everything. Go out 
there toward evening, on the Boulevards, and see the num- 
berless groups, family parties, before the innumerable cofes 
on the sidewalks, in the open air, -with the little table .be- 
tween them, covered with the evening meal in its most 
pleasant forms. Listen to these interlocutors as you pass, 
the children, parents, friends, and tell me if this is not 
home, pleasant home, as pleasant as are many ; yes, as any, 
on the other side of the channel. I was getting warm with 
my subject, and the fan served both. 

Mrs. rejoined in a general admission that the Boule- 
vards were wholly by themselves, in every species of social 
attraction ; that they presented society in a most agreeable 
way, and certainly did attract the stranger mightily. " But, 

but," added Mrs. " the husbands ! the husbands ! Their 

conduct shows what I mean, when I say there are no homes 
in Paris. A husband is never at home. He knows none. 
There is the house, the furniture, the coach and horses, the 
servants, the money, the wife, the children. Here ends 
the catalogue ; the husband is nowhere. But I have made 
a discovery," continued the lady. " I used to think the 
French husbands w^ere very bad ; but the wives I have learned 
are quite as bad as are they." A noise was heard in the 

next room. " Mr. 's penance is over," said the lady. 

" I wonder how he looks. By the way, sir, you wdll make 
an excellent Daguerre. Mr. could hardly fail to sue- 



8"2 TALK IX PARIS. 

ceed with you." The lady rose, and met her husband. I 
laid the fan on the sofa, and soon after the party left. 

This was an odd adventure. Here was a lady obviously 
of excellent position, and of much attraction, with as sour a 
looking mate as a lady could well be matched with, and en- 
tering with much grace indeed, but earnestly too, with a 
perfect stranger, upon just such topics, as persons perfectly 
unacquainted with each other, and in a strange city, might 
have made it a question to discuss ; and bandying compli- 
ments with as gracious expression in look, word, and 
manner as such conventions could well be clothed in. 
Whence this lady's knowledge of Paris ? She had just 
come, and was soon going. Whence this knowledge of Paris 
life, — whence these revelations of the current domestic 
morality? I was infinitely amused with this summary 
judgment of a million or two of people, and at once made a 
note ®f it for your edification. 

Soon after, I passed an evening with an American 
family in the Rue Rivoli. Paris, the universal topic came 
up. I had that day made an entry in my journal, entitled 
" Paris children." I spoke of the pleasure it gave me daily 
to see and hear the children, in the garden opposite, in hun- 
dreds, if not thousands, with their attendants, plajdng, laugh- 
ing, sometimes, very rarely, crying, — in all sorts of ways 
telling what a grand life was theirs, and how happy were 
they to play in the shade of forest and orange trees, with 
which the grounds and walks about were filled, or bordered. 
I spoke too of the Sunday afternoon and evening, crowds of 
children, and of parents in the Champs Elysees, the happiest 
place for the time in the whole world, with its infinitely 
varied means of amusement for all ages, and all conditions, 
and producing universal cheerfulness and pleasure. 

Mrs. said, " Yes, these are beautifal places, and no 

place in the world can surpass them. But do you know, 
Sir, that these happy children of the garden, pass the rest 
of their time for the most part with servants in the niir- 



TALK IN PARIS. 83 

sery, or at school, or with governesses. They have the air, 
light, exercise, and all freedom of these. They are nicely 
clothed and fed. Health is well looked to, and music, 
dancing, grace, have their means in profusion everywhere. 
But these children see their mothers only occasionally, or 
periodically." 

Said one, " Dear Madam, is it not pretty much the same 
thing everywhere, differing only in social forms ? Is it not 
the same across the Channel, and across the Atlantic? 
Are there not boarding-schools in both, in which children 
pass much of their young life from home. And are not 
other children constantly in charge of maids, Hibernian or 
other, from whom they get lessons they never forget ? Do 
they not go to city schools, and learn sciences and languages, 
of which, it may be, the mother knows not a syllable, and 
the father not a word. And if they (the younger) come to 
the table, is not their advent with the dessert only, and 
their exodus with the wine ? Is not the club the home of 
the husbands, and Almacks of the wives ? When are the 
daughters the companions of the mothers, or the sons of the 
fathers? We abuse Paris ; but doth not the sin lie also at 
our door ? " You cannot tell how rich was this criticism 
of manners ; and the " Glass House " proverb was clearly on 
many lips, and " casting the first stone," was as plainly in 
the lesson of the day. 



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS. 

I said, you recollect, that I went abroad for observa- 
tion, to see in foreign lands, religious and industrial, social 
and political institutions, in their actual workings, and 
especially in their results. There was England with its 
limited monarchy, and there was the continent with its 
more or less absolute despotism. Everything had interest 
to me ; in such strong contrast was it with everything I had 



84 ACKI^OWLEDGMENTS. 

left, that the interest in it all could hardly he other than 
strong, and I daily sought its gratification. My wanderings 
were to be limited by Moscow in the east, and Madrid in 
the west. My objects, so far at least as the limits of 
travel were concerned, were accomplished. I travelled 
under many advantages. From some connection with Har- 
vard College, its then President, Mr. J. Sparks, gave me a 
general letter of recommendation, which under various con- 
tingencies of travel might have been very useful to me. 
This distinguished gentleman gave me a letter of introduc- 
tion to Mr. Barnard, American Minister at the Court of 
Berlin, which procured for me courtesies and hospitalities 
from Mr. Barnard which are gratefully remembered. How 
pleasant is it to me to look back upon my acquaintance 
with Mr. Sparks, who for a long time was a dweller with 
me under the same roof, from whom I have always received 
most friendly attentions, and for which this acknowledgment 
is most gratefully made. To the late Hon. Abbott Law- 
rence, then Minister at the Court of St. James, I owe my 
thanks for his readiness to render me services which were 
highly useful to me. He added to President Sparks's letter, 
his own recommendation, and affixed to it the seal of his 
important office, the seal of the nation. I took despatches 
from the London Legation to that of St. Petersburg, and 
received from Hon. Mr. Brown, then Minister at that Court, 
every attention which could make my residence in that re- 
mote capital pleasant and useful. I cannot forget the many 
pleasant and highly useful offices accorded to me by the 
accomplished Secretary of the Legation, Mr. Wright, of New 
York. Gov. Brown gave me despatches to the Legation at 
Paris, with a courier pass, which relieved me from much of 
the otherwise necessary embarrassments which both the 
entering into, and the leaving of the Russian dominions 
involve. Mr. Rives was not in Paris, but Mr. Sandford laid 
me under special obligations by his constant disposition, and 
efforts, to favor my objects, and most heartily do I thank 



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS. 85 

him. Mr. Sandford gave me despatches to the Legation at 
Madrid, and from Mr. Perry, the Charge, in the absence of 
the Minister, I received every civility and attention I could 
desire. 

You must pardon me for dwelling so long on these grate- 
ful reminiscences. These official services are among the 
most pleasant recollections of my foreign travel. Living, as 
for years I had done, a professional life, with scarce any 
other intercourse with the world around me than that of my 
profession, I was more struck perhaps with my European 
social experiences, than I might otherwise have been. In 
themselves, too, they were most grateful to me. I remem- 
ber an incident in Paris somewhat related to what was above 
said of my official relations, and which much pleased me. I 
was one evening at the National Circus, in the Champs 
Elysees, with an American acquaintance, who, when a very 
handsome young woman was riding magnificently, touched 
me and said, " The Minister is here, two or three boxes in 
the same row from us." I did not look away from the 
rider, but said, " He is not in Paris, I was told so this 
morning at the Legation. He is at Honfleur." " No such 
thing," said my neighbour, with a stronger elbow hint. 
" He has found you out, and is nodding this way." The 
handsome rider had left the course, and looking to my right, 
there sat Mr. Lawrence. I immediately rose, took off my 
hat and bowed. Mr. Lawrence did the same, and sat down. 
The band immediately played our national air. I said this 
incident pleased me. It was most unexpected, this vision 
of Mr. Lawrence, whom I had so recently left at the Lega- 
tion in Lord Cardigan's house in Hyde Park, so courteously 
rendering all needed services to his countrymen. It was 
pleasant, after the performances of the circus were finished, 
to see and speak to Mr. Lawrence again ; to see him in such 
perfect health and spirits. The old air, Yankee Doodle, — 
which Mr. Sales, the French teacher in Cambridge College, 
told me nearly half a century ago, while at a collation with 
8 



86 ACKXOWLEDGME^'TS. 

him, 4th July, in our Doric Hall, is a Spanish air, — the old 
air was pleasant in that distant land. I was a little exer- 
cised to learn how the band should knowws to be Americans, 
but of course settled the question, as it has doubtless been 
settled already. I called on Mr. Lawrence immediately 
on his arrival in Boston from London. He was not at 
home, and I never saw him again. The old kindness will 
never be forgotten. 

While in the circus, my attention was attracted by two 
well dressed men who sat immediately before me on the 
front seat. They .-at close together, but said nothing during 
the exhibition. In speaking to my acquaintance, I said, in 
what connection I do not remember, it was probably the 
beginning of a sentence, " Louis Napoleon." Those two 
silent, still men, at once turned on their seats and most 
intently eyed me. I quietly said to my companion, I shall 
call on the Minister of the Interior in the morning, as I was 
to leave in a day or two for Spain. 

Other distinguished men from whom I received attentions, 
which I shall always bear in grateful memory, have recently 
died. Among these is Sir James Wiley, who in an impor- 
tant sense gave to me the entree to Russia. This is particu- 
larly noticed hereafter. 

Gotthelf Fischer de Waldheim, of Saxony, was born 
1771. He was one of the most distinguished men in 
Europe, a fellow student of A. von Humboldt. I have 
spoken, as you will find in the journal, of my introduction to 
him in Moscow, and of the attentions I received from this 
venerable and world-wide distinguished man. He died 
about a year since. 

A letter kindly given to me by Gen. Swift of the Ameri- 
can army, introduced me to Major Brown, the successor to 
Major Whistler, in the construction and finishing of the 
Moscow and St. Petersburg Railway. From Major Brown, 
Mrs. Brown, and their accomplished son, I received almost 
daily just such attentions as are most welcome to a stranger 



WHY THE " VACATION." 87 

in a foreign land. They were the first to welcome me, and 
the last to say farewell. How grateful would it have heen 
to me to greet them in our native land, and to repay them 
in some measure, what had been so generously bestowed on 
me abroad. I have recently heard of the death of Major 
Brown, and the pleasant anticipations in which I have so 
long indulged can never be realized. Cheerfully would I 
extend the record of the kindness, courtesy, genuine hos- 
pitality, so new to me, which I found everywhere abroad. 
I reserve them, that they may appear in future notices of 
the places in which I was honored by them. 



WHY THE "VACATION." 

The following is a daily record of incident, and of 
thought, as they occurred during these wanderings. It 
was kept for you, which may serve to explain its freedom 
of thought, and minuteness of detail. I went abroad, you 
know, to escape for a time from the harass of social, politi- 
cal, and professional duties, and conventions, — to give up 
work, and seriously to play, — to breathe another air, — to 
see new forms in nature, in art, and in society, — to see 
what foreign institutions had done for man, — to see him 
under new aspects. I went to see new and diverse systems 
in every kind in their actual workings. For more than 
forty years I had lived in the same place, and at the same 
work. So literally true is this, that I cannot remember 
more than a fortnight (thirteen days) that I was, — for mere 
pleasure, relaxation, — from home. I was desirous to get 
out of the harness, with a whole ocean between me and 
work, — to feel as free as in my earliest days of conscious 
liberty, — to go when and where I pleased, — to be conscious 
of an entire new mode of life ; of one especially which was 



88 WHY THE " VACATION. " 

not to be daily determined by the variety of professional 
calls, — the different phases of disease, — to see life, health, 
and countries, in their beauty, power, truth, — and to find 
everywhere, and in everything, opportunities of varied ob- 
servation, thought, and pleasure, and to enjoy them. And 
I did enjoy them all. Every day left its mark, and glad am 
I that its deep traces have not yet been quite ground out, 
— life on its old level spread out before me again. 

A journalist, if he have any truth or heart in him, must 
be an egotist. For what has he got to write about but that 
which he has seen, heard, and felt, — his own moral, intel- 
lectual, and physical experiences, — himself ? He cannot 
escape from himself if he would, when he tells another 
what, for the time, made him just what he was. He has 
left home, country, friends, and enemies, far behind, or 
beyond him ; and all alone, without a single relation with 
what is about him, — in a new heaven, and a new earth, he 
has willingly and cheerfully yielded himself to the daily, 
and hourly, of his experiences, whatever they may be. One 
said to me, " I cannot read this ' Faggot of French Sticks.' 
This Sir Francis Head is the rankest egotist I have ever met 
with." "For that very reason," said I, "I delight in his 
book. I thank him for his simple, unadulterated egotism. 
I want to know what he thought, said, did, saw, heard, and 
felt. Yes, what troubles you is, to me, his chiefest charm. 
He is the most important personage in his book, so far as 
he himself is concerned, and he was honest and wise enough 
to say so." I remember hearing one day, at sea, a gentleman 
addressed by Sir Francis's name and title. As soon as op- 
portunity served, and without any introduction, I begged 
leave to express to him my great pleasure to see him, and 
to thank him for his book of French travel. It turned out 
that this gentleman was a relative of, not Sir Francis. My 
" Faggot " follows. 

If my book please you, be satisfied, and I shall feel that I 
have neither travelled, nor written, in vain ; used neither 



WHY THE " VACATION. 89 

money nor legs for naught. I specify these, only adding 
French, as the sole and whole capital for him who travels. 
You know I have been in the way, through life, of thinking 
somewhat for myself. 

Nullius addictus jurare in verba magistri. 
Quomecunque rapit tempestas deferor hospes. 

In English : 

I acknowledge no master in opinion. 
Wherever I stop, I pay my bill. 

My thoughts have always found their expression, — their 
language, in themselves. I was once expressing my admi- 
ration of the language of Shakespeare to one who was dear 
to our heart, and near to our blood, — alas! alas! for us, 
now dead, — and my wonder, where he found words which 
were so expressive of his meaning. Said he, "W., a 
thought will always clothe itself.'' How much was wrapt 
up in these six words. I have never forgotten them. When 
fortunate enough to have a thought, I have taken the 
clothing it has brought with it. A thinking man's mind 
has its own livery ; and its various styles, colours, shapes, 
always, always determine his manner, and distinguish him 
more or less strongly from all others. 

I have spoken of America, and of Young America. They 
came into my mind when I was observing or thinking about 
what the foreign state was, and I have written as I was 
moved by my theme. I have spoken of our government, 
of the powers granted, and of those which I think it wants, 
in order to the more perfect development of itself and 
people. I have spoken of its partial constitutional pro- 
visions for freedom, and of its wide despotism of opinion. 
I have spoken of the national sensitiveness, as a want of 
national healthful manliness, and as having a necessary 
tendency to produce international trouble. Men speak of 
what most deeply interests them, earnestly. They should 
8* 



90 JOURNAL. 

be as faithful in such offices as in others ; and never, never 
fear the judgments of those, who, for a moment, would 
question or diminish their right to discuss any topic which 
interests them. 

JOURNAL. 

Left London for Calais, on my way to Russia, Thursday, 
June 3, at 8 p.m., with despatches for the American Minister 
at St. Petersburg. "We reached Dover after midnight. 
The evening was fine. The moon at full, was never more 
bright. The country was in its richest verdure, and the 
long twilight and the succeeding moonlight made the drive 
as beautiful as any remembered. 

At Calais I landed in good order. So smooth was the 
sea, and so kindly was chloroform, the use of which in sea 
sickness was suggested to me by Sir James Clarke, that I 
was not for a moment sick. One poor wight was bad 
enough, and another near me was but a little better ; but 
they preferred the sea and its power, to the dangers of 
chloroform. 

The Cliffs of Dover were seen by me for the first time, 
though I had passed them mid-channel forty years ago, of 
which passage my only memory was, of sickness. But now 
the Cliffs were objects of peculiar interest. They are of 
pure chalk, and as white as snow. The moon was just high 
enough to pour its ocean streams of horizontal light upon 
them in measureless power and beauty. No one who has 
not seen the Cliffs at such a time, can dream of the appear- 
ance, or the effect of light upon such a surface. It was not 
dead white ; but the strength of the reflection gave them 
almost a moving, living brilliancy. It was like the clearest 
and brightest metallic lustre ; but so soft, as well as strong, 
was the return, that it did not seem reflected, but original 
light. I looked at it for the whole time it lasted, and when 
it faded away, it was replaced, but in infinitely less power 



JOURNAL. 91 

and beauty, by the brilliant channel lights which suddenly 
came upon us by a change in the bearings of the Cliffs. I 
thought of Shakespeare, of Lear, and of old sightless Gloster, 
till the scene of the play seemed before me. On we went. 
In mid-channel the steamer's restivencss increased, and she 
tossed and rolled like a restrained but powerful animal. Still 
I was well. We passed the Calais pier and reached the 
wharf. We were soon landed and hurried, or were hurried, 
with our luggage, to the custom-house. Here we had fun. 
The object of each and all was to be put through first. 
There was a bar across an enclosure, and a passage-way 
made when the bar was removed, through which five or 
six might squeeze before the bar was replaced. In this 
way we proceeded for a time with tolerable quiet, but 
patience began to fail, and at length gave way. The whole 
body moved in a mass, and for a time I thought the people 
would have succeeded ; but we had a man before us at the 
bar who would not be beaten. He fought bravely. Small, 
compact, fearless, the law on his side. He drove back the 
whole power which assailed him ; shut his bar, and looked 
" try again." We all at length got in, ladies and all, for 
there were ladies in the battle. Our passports got certain 
red and black marks. Dr. Shannon was called, his courier 
appeared for him, and took the precious document, and our 
luggage passed inspection. You would have been amused, I 
certainly was, to see the searching officer dive his hand down 
into that ark of mine, and of everybody else, the carpet-bag, 
which you had packed with such matchless skill, that it held 
more than it could, and to see how he fished up all possible 
things, and then, how he squeezed all back again into im- 
possible space. The trunk underwent the same severe dis- 
cipline, but rather less in detail. This was my first expe- 
rience in this way, and the last. Charles has managed that 
matter ever since, and if the whole customs police of Eu- 
rope disturb him in the least possible degree, I will forever 
abandon the idea of human patience as a human virtue, 
possession, or what not. 



92 JOURNAL. 

You may bear in mind an innocent infirmity of mine, 
losing things. Just as I was leaving London for Dover, I 
discovered I had lost pounds sterling enough to make a 
round sum in dollars. As this want of supplies would have 
been a serious trouble "by the way," I proceeded to hunt. 
As I had just seven pockets in my shooting jacket, as 
they call it, and which had been with me, on my back of 
course, to at least one minister's splendid apartments, and in 
the presence there and observance of fine ladies, and is invalu- 
able, — the saints save me from losing it, — seven pockets, I 
say, for two were added to the original five in Liverpool, these 
seven were, I slould think, seventy times seven times ex- 
amined, but the pounds sterling were not. I remembered 
offering to pay my bill just before dinner ; and Stafford, 
the head waiter, remembered seeing me put the bills back 
into one of the seven pockets, and which he pointed out. 
Where were the bills ? Charles had been with me to 
change some of my luggage to his trunk, and as I hung 
over it somewhat, it might have dropped out ; but it was 
not. Things looked serious. My trip to Dover must be 
given up, for I must draw more money before I could go. 

That could only be done next day. I went to Mrs. 

chamber — pockets again — character of house involved, 
of my immaculate courier ! The maid took off" of the bu- 
reau a roll of papers which she was just putting in the 
grate, in which was an excellent fire. " What is this ? " 
said the maid. " Why ! " screamed she gently, as became a 
maid, "it must be the Doctor's roll of bills." And so it 
was. I now remembered I went into the room, and in an 
absent fit, had taken the bills from a side, an upper inside 
pocket, and laid them on the bureau. Joy was all over the 
house. " You cannot go, you have no time," said one. 
" Time enough," said another. " Order a cab there ! " 
screamed one. " Get luggage down," screamed another. 
The cab came. I, with my moveables, Charles and trunks 
among the rest, were stowed in and on it, and off" we went 



JOUKNAL. 93 

full blast, absolutely gallopping over Waterloo Bridge 
to London Bridge, to the Dover Station. Beached tbe train 
just in time, and on we drove. You cannot tell how much 
everybody was plcared, what shaking of hands and kind 
words attended my departure ! Sad am I to say, that I left 
spectacles, silver pen, two pairs of gloves, and a penknife 
behind, and something else forgotten now, but doubtless 
really useful to me. You know of this infirmity of mine. 
I seriously think of getting another courier, especially as yes- 
terday I lost Charles. You shall hear of this, this minute, 
while upon the topic. We were at the station nearest to Brus- 
sels, in which splendid city I am, and next door to the Palace, 
and exactly before me a most magnificent mall, with a sun all 
brightness to show me all, in the early light of which I am 
writing at this present to you. I had not left the carriage, 
and I did not suppose the courier had, though I did not see 
him for a moment run away from it. I had some anticipa- 
tion of trouble. But I got on pretty well. The train at 
length stopped. The courier was not to be found. He had 
sole care of my luggage, — my keys, my passport, my 
money, just advanced for expenses, and one month's wages, 
ten sovereigns. Where was he .^ He is too large to be 
lost, said I. Where ! Where ! " Gentle shepherd tell 
me where ! " Here was I, a perfect child in resources, not 
accustomed to the management of luggage, porters, railroad 
agents. German and Germanico French the only tongue. 
You know how small is my French, and my German, naught. 
Parlez vous this, that, and the other, was asked while list- 
eners remained, but one after another departed, and I was 
left in a monstrous station, with but one human being, 
where had been so many a moment before, with my discon- 
solate luggage. I could get no aid, and things grew bad. 
Not a porter, not a coach, nothing but universal Brussels, 
whether of lace or carpets, I cared not. But the man who 
stuck by me, made me understand that possibly the courier 
might take a train, which happened to be on the route, and 



94 JOURI^^AL. 

whicli would pass tlie station where Charles was missed. 
He took me to a beer house, which, for temperance, is rarely 
a place of high exaltation. There he ordered for me a large 
tumbler of sugar-water, and we talked all sorts of things, 
largely mixed up in French, German, and a kindred English. 
I was restless, and begged him to walk with me to a hotel, 
to the Bellevue, so called. " Wait," said he, " ten minutes 
more, do, sir. The train will surely arrive by that time." 
It did, and Charles came running as well as his Danish so- 
lemnity allowed, with all sorts of apologies, «Sz:c. 

The luggage was arranged, and I told C. to pay the friend, 
who had been so kind to me, waiting so long, and whose 
sugar and water was borne in faithful memory. Said C. 
" a franc is enough, and he will be satisfied with that." I 
was not. A franc ! The fifth part of a dollar. I said I 
would pay him myself, and so I did. I did it by a sort of 
stealth, for the courier has no love of paying the number- 
less demands of foreign waiters, porters, and others who 
serve one. 

Calais. — We return upon Calais. I reached the town 
between two and three a. m. Got tea and coEee at three, 
and soon after went to bed. The house is perfect, at least 
such was it to me, — Dessein's, known to all the readers and 
lovers of Sterne. It is very old, and forms by its four equal 
sides a quadrangle in the centre, large, well paved, hand- 
some, — house perfectly white. This white is the prevail- 
ing colour on the continent. Brussels is perfectly white, 
and looks as if it were daily white-washed. My room 
looked to a large shrubbery with trees flowering, shrubs, 
flowers, and all in abundance. 

At my bed hour, the day had broken, and at once, as it 
seemed to me, thousands of birds began in all sorts of 
strains to sing. They began at once, as soon as day dawned, 
and all together. Perfect stillness at one minute, a whole 
choir in full harmony the next. I cannot tell you how 



JOURNAL. 95 

sweet, how c"harming all this was. What a welcome to the 
new-born day. What a promise that it was, and would be 
well with it all its hours long. I love to remember this, 
and to add that what was such a surprise at Calais has been 
met with everywhere, — the birds. 

The opposite mall in Brussels, — I should call it forest, 
— is absolutely alive with birds, with birds which I never 
heard before, and of exquisite beauty of note. They are 
close by me, and the sound of each may be distinguished 
without its in the least diminishing the harmony. I had 
shrubberies close to my window, which brought me so near 
to the birds. You saw them everywhere. 

In Liverpool was the same daily beautiful concert in a 
shrubbery close to the Waterloo, and which fronted my 
parlour windows. In this they had their nests, and their 
young, and never were they disturbed for a moment. A 
slight, low rail, an iron rail fence separated them, though 
hardly, from passers by, and people stopped to see and to 
hear them, but never to scare, or to hurt them. The yard of 
the hotel is this moment, seven a. m., (I have been writing 
from four,) full of birds in full song. But Calais it was which 
took the shine out of all the city out-door aviaries I have 
seen or heard. How rejoiced I should have been to have 
had you with me. So much for birds. They have been, 
my daily friends. They never fatigue you. When men 
cease to hear them, and drown their melody in their grating, 
discordant, business noises, the birds withdraw, patiently 
waiting for the dawning of another day. 

I rose early, at Calais, got up, dressed, and went 
forth to see the place. Calais is an old fellow. It looks 
like a weather-beaten soldier. Like him is it marked 
with many a " seamy scar." It is small. I went through 
Rue Royale as far as I could go. Calais is surrounded by 
fortifications, one beyond the other, with ditches for water 
between. In some is water now. You pass through very 
strong gate-ways, with gates which turning upon an axle 



96 JOUKNAL. 

are easily moved, and remain suspended in mid air, or so as 
to divide the gate-way into two parts, one above and the 
other below. The upper one, I suppose for the birds, the 
lower for men and donkeys, for the latter abound. Some 
of the walls have been recently rebuilt. A garrison is here, 
and soldiers are protecting the city, against — nothing I 
They did not molest me. I wandered carelessly anywhere, 
and was quite pleased with my walk. I saw only poor and 
labouring people around. Women, very homely, and clum- 
sily dressed, were working in the streets, washing sidewalks, 
and gutters, doing what our scavengers do. I saw nothing 
more to record. But I repeat that with which I begun, that 
the Inn, Dessein's, — and a Dessein still keeps it, — is a 
most excellent one. I Avas served at table by a waiter of 
forty years' standing, at the same Inn. Can you believe 
this ? We change servants, which are none, every day, — 
and here was this old and real servant, as fresh, as cheerful, 
as desirous to please, as are half-accepted lovers, with none 
of their misgivings. I really liked the old gentleman, who 
did not at all seem old, and commend you to stop at Des- 
sein's, Rue Royale, the very first opportunity that presents. 
A queer arrangement here. The servants' room is in the 
yard or quadrangle, and opposite to it and in easy sight are 
the bells of the hotel rooms, with numbers attached to the 
wall, corresponding to the rooms within, and are easily seen 
at any distance. The noise of ringing is thus loud and 
clear. I thought it quite a nice arrangement. 

You told me, you recollect, to write, and I told you I 
would not. Now, like the woman who spoke in meeting, I 
have begun to write, and when I shall stop I know not. So 
courage ! and you shall have all my travels' history. 

June. — The drive from Calais to Brussels has been 
very interesting. The portion belonging to France, had 
much less to attract me than has Belgium. It looked cold 
in France. The soil poor. It is everywhere excessively dry, 
and the season has been very cold. The land, though well 



JOURNAL. 97 

cultivated, is in some contrast with England. There every- 
thing was perfect in its kind. Everything in place, and 
every place beautifully and successfully tilled. I know noth- 
ing which strikes a traveller more than the culture of the 
regions he passes. It tells a story, is it not a true one ? of 
the people, and of the soil. No matter how scantily the 
labourer is paid ; no matter who enters upon his labours, 
and gathers all the harvest, except the poor pittance upon 
which he and his live. We do not look to the personal in 
such moments. The earth is before us, and the fulness 
thereof. And whatever we may think about it, the earth 
and its, is for thought, and, for the time, nothing more. We 
have to trust something to imagination as far as other things 
are concerned. But present facts fill the mind, and with or 
among them, there are we. 

In England I saw few labourers in the field. In France, 
and especially in Belgium, work was everywhere. In the 
former, many cattle, sheep, &c. In this part of France, 
scarcely one. Said one, when the reason was asked, " They 
are away from the road, the land here is the best." In 
Prussia, which we entered later, cattle were frequent. 

The work of the farm is carried on by everybody, men, 
women, children. Far more women and girls, than men. 
The flax fields are almost entirely cultivated by women. 
The flax is in long beds or strips, and you see the women 
on their knees weeding it with the greatest care. Not a 
weed is allowed to remain, and nothing is neater or more 
attractive than a well cultivated luxuriant flax field. Wheat 
is grown in great abundance, but I hardly think it looked 
as well as in England. Vegetables of all kinds, especially 
the large, so called, English or horse bean. This is very 
abundant. Apple orchards are frequent, and in Belgium 
more so than elsewhere. Much cider is made here, and a 
coarse sort of preserve, which, from description, appeared 
to me most to resemble our apple sauce, and which is much 
used. The greatest neatness prevails throughout the farm. 
9 



98 JOURNAL. 

Everything seemed in perfect order. The thatched cottages, 
with a great lack of glass, were very neat, unless decayed 
by time. The practice of repair seems little attended to. 

What is the effect of so much out-door toil, with, it may 
be, scanty food, at least of nutritious food, upon the appear- 
ance of the people ? They seemed to me to be under size. 
The children, the younger especially, were thin of flesh and 
small. I did not see a really fat, English baby among all I 
saw. Recollect that very young children are out in the 
fields, while their mothers are at work. I do not recollect 
seeing a child, or even a cat or a dog, at any of the cot- 
tages in my way. They seemed, and they were entirely 
deserted, for the fields. The children who were too young 
to work were always seen sitting quietly among the grass, 
and perfectly at rest. I saw no playing children anywhere. 
Now upon women, the eff'ect of such a life is the more 
striking. They live in the fields, they seem to have no 
domestic cares. They looked short, stout, dumpy, very 
dark skinned, cheek bones high, features coarse. Their 
size did not seem to depend entirely on flesh, but on the 
abundance of heavy woollen clothing. I should think the 
main stock in trade or in use, was clothing, and that, as 
their cottages are very small, they kept their wardrobe not 
in bureaus, chests, &c., but on their backs. This sometimes 
has exceptions. I saw a girl of eighteen or more with her 
legs to her knees quite bare and exposed. She was working 
in wet mud-land, as much of Belgium is, and this doubtless 
was the best costume. 

I asked how much a very industrious strong man could 
earn a day by agriculture. I was told he might earn 
1 or 2 francs, or 20 or 40 cents. With every workable 
member of a family in the field, this very small sum for one 
family amounts to something. But as women and children 
are probably very slightly paid, the whole cannot be much. 
There is this compensation for so much industry, and so 
slight return to the labourer. He can buy a great deal for 



JOURNAL. 99 

a little money, — such, small wages. The cheapness of food, 
of clothing, shelter, fuel, compared with Avhat it is every- 
where else, especially in Great Britain and America, renders 
industry more productive in the end, though less well paid 
for at first. There is another very important fact in this 
connection. This is the number of workers. Labour is 
less paid for just as the number of labourers is greatest. 
But the product of so much industry, though individual 
toil never seemed to me oppressive, — the product is very 
large. I was daily taught this. I have never seen larger 
products. I have never seen tillage more perfect, and its 
results more apparent. Hence small wages, and hence too 
the value of a little money in the purchase of the neces- 
saries, and some of the luxuries of life. Another fact. 
Labour, though universal, is not severe, exhausting. I 
never saw more leisurely, inexpressive toil. There was 
steady occupation, but nothing violent in it. The cheerful- 
ness of the people was explained. Their home, their even- 
ing amusements. They had strength to play, for they came 
not exhausted from their work. Their amusements are not 
expensive, and thrift, such as it was, was not checked by 
their enjoyment. 

I have now spoken of the most industrious nations ever 
offered to my observation. The American people, — coun- 
try people, — know little of work compared to these. Here 
everything labours. I saw dogs constantly in harness in 
Brussels, and working well too. One man had the harness 
so arranged, that the dog was under the cart, to which he 
was attached, and thus did not increase the length of the 
establishment. The man pushed behind. The donkey is 
everywhere, and a most industrious felloAV is he. He is the 
roughest coated creature I know of, with prodigious ears. 
On he trots with his velvet hoofs, making no noise, and 
bringing a good deal to pass. He works for the women, 
carrying them and their merchandise with the patience and 
zeal of a martyr. I honour the donkey. 



100 JOURNAL. 

I had some opportunity to observe men and women, as 
well as donkies and working dogs. I mean fellow-travel- 
lers. The priests, I think, attracted me the most. I had 
many priests in carriages with me, and most of them young 
men. You saw at once what rest, repose, quiet, produces 
upon people. They were handsome, tall, well made men. 
Their voices were gentle and musical. They were very 
courteous ; passing much of their time in reading as we 
travelled on, but always ready to answer a question and to 
give information. Their costume was quite striking, grace- 
ful, becoming. Always black, sometimes fitting the person, 
and reaching from neck to feet. Sometimes full sacks, but 
always graceful in their large flowing. One had bands 
of black, with a very narrow white edge. Very becoming 
were they, and with the rest of the dress making a perfect 
whole. The hat was the most striking garment. For the 
most part, I do not remember an exception, — it was a three 
cornered cocked hat. The corners were very sharp. The 
whole was large, and sitting mostly on the top of the head, 
or only so much over it as its safety required. These 
cocked hats gave to the young men a most queer, knowing 
look, I assure you. There were old priests among them, 
but they looked as little interesting as old folk ordinarily do. 

Not far from St. Omers, there entered the carriage two 
young women, whose appearance attracted me. They were 
both well looking, and one quite so. Their dress was of 
woollen, of a very dark gray mixed ; I thought at first it 
was black. It was very full, and laid in very large plaits, 
especially behind. It was a thin fabric, and fitted the per- 
son as well as such generous dresses can well do. But 
their head gear was the more to be noticed. It was a bon- 
net, a cap, a what-not ? the head part shaped somewhat as 
the old scuttle shaped cape bonnet was with us ; but there 
proceeded in part from the main body of the bonnet, a por- 
tion which was turned sharply up, roundly turned, and 
coming out in a peak, and continuous with this, on each 



JOURNAL. 101 

side, a broad portion like the cape of the cape bonnet, as 
seen behind, which reached down almost to the shoulder, 
but flaring off in a beautifully fanciful manner. The whole 
thing was large, projecting far in front and laterally, but 
not at all ungracefully. No hair was visible. There went 
from the top of the forehead, shutting back and up the 
hair, and all round, a sort of cap, fitting close to the skin, 
as white as snow, and laid in beautifully small and symmet- 
rical plaits. Recollect, very little of this was seen, the 
bonnet being set upon it. Now this strange head gear was 
snow white, and so deeply penetrated with starch as to 
keep its shape entirely. It more resembled a sort of can- 
vas stuff, of which samples used to be made ; a foundation 
material upon which bonnets were wont to be erected. 
That is, the article more resembled it in its stiffness, being 
exquisitely fine, and though moving with the wind, it did 
not lose its shape. There was no cape behind. This ap- 
pendage being lateral only, left the back part of the head 
no more covered than would a common bonnet that came 
down well behind. No hair was visible there any more 
than it was in front. Now who were these very strangely 
garmented young ladies ? They were members of a society 
of Sisters of Charity, and were at a school to be prepared 
for their honoured office. The order was, in all respects, as 
I learned, a voluntary one. The members might leave if 
they pleased, and were in no sense shut out of society or the 
world. But you saw at a moment's glance that these sisters 
would not give up their calling. They were devotees, and 
for life ; at least, so I read their faces and their manners. 
One of them, the last, well looking, talked much in French, 
used great action, and was singularly living. The other 
had great brightness, animation, but its expression was 
much less explicit, so to say, and left her companion far in 
advance. I was glad to have met with these girls. It was 
a new passage in my " travels' history," and as such, and 
for itself, I heartily gave it welcome. I asked the eloquent 
9* 



102 JOUKNAL. 

sister where I could get one of lier head dresses, or rather 
one like hers. She said there was a society of her order in 
Avierique already, — in Mexique, — these were her geogra- 
phical designations, and that I could easily obtain a speci- 
men at home. Poor child ! she thought Boston was the 
next town to Mexico. 

The railroads in this part of France, and many of them 
in Belgium, deserve a passing notice. A railroad depends 
for its cheapness, speed, and its rapidity of completion, on 
the country through which it may pass. If the country be 
very level, as in the two above named kingdoms, expense 
will be comparatively small, and moderate time only de- 
manded. Now, in the condition of surface referred to, — 
the freedom from rocks and hills, — we have conditions of 
excellent and moderately expensive roads, though, as I 
learn, they are far more expensive than the American. The 
country in this part of France, and most of Belgium, is 
perfectly flat ; not a tunnel is to be met with in either of 
these portions of these kingdoms. On, on we drive, with 
nothing to interrupt us. Soldiers are stationed throughout 
the whole length of the route to warn of danger, or to shut 
out by-roads when the trains are passing. The carriages are 
sometimes very shaky, and heads are kept rocking from 
side to side, as if by a sort of artificial arrangement, such 
as keeps the imitation Mandarin's head in motion up and 
down. Some of the carriages are very easy. We had, in 
the latter stages of the route, from Brussels and Cologne, 
very nice and easy second class carriages. I always drive 
in them, and had a very pleasant afternoon's travel. 

Just before leaving Belgium, and for some distance in 
Prussia, the face of the country undergoes a very remark- 
able change. From being perfectly level, — making canalling 
a most easy matter, but now canals are but little used, — 
from so level a region, we suddenly passed into a hilly, 
moderately mountainous country, of a most picturesque 
character. I could hardly believe my eyes. From Calais 



JOURNAL. 103 

to this region the whole is flat. Now the whole is changed 
to the one described. The hills equalled our Green Moun- 
tains, but differed from them in the noble forests which 
covered them. The shapes are ver)^ fine, and ridges pass- 
ing each other in different ways, produced valleys of exqui- 
site beauty. Naked rocks formed the sides at one time, 
and at others projected from the tops of the hills. Then 
there were rounded masses, and then two tops to one moun- 
tain, with their independent forests, or naked. I spoke to 
a female fellow-traveller, and whom I found very intelligent ; 
I spoke to her of all this mountain beauty and grandeur, 
and said I knew a lady who would be very glad to sketch 
there. Said she, the people of the place, — Spa was where 
we were, — the inhabitants are constantly out making 
sketches, — all who have taste for such a service, — and 
they have wood sawed very thin, and in the winter keep it 
in the water, a mineral water she thought, which hardened 
it and made it more durable ; and then, after drying and 
polishing, they painted upon them from the sketches they 
had made in the summer. These they sell to company at 
the Spa, and so make their living. I was pleased with this 
simple story, for it taught what nature can, and will do, for 
and with her docile children. She will place them in the 
midst of her best works, or find them there, and by such 
works develop in them powers which, without some such 
agency, would have " fusted unused." Such at least, would 
seem to be the teaching of the story in one of its phases. 

What effect has this change of surface upon the railroad ? 
Just this. Instead of proceeding straight through in one 
line, without any physical cause or obstacle to disturb it in 
its straightest and shortest direction between two points, it 
has, in order to accomplish this important object in the con- 
struction of all roads, to enter at once upon a system of tun- 
nelling, and so wide was the demand, and so many tunnels 
made, that I gave up the counting of them, having counted 
eight in a distance so short that I had reason to believe that 



104 JOURIS-AL. 

before reaching Cologne, I should have got to the end of 
my arithmetic. 

Some stations before reaching that city, another change 
of surface was brought into view. The hills gradually 
sunk away till we got to the common level of Belgium, and 
the tunnels ceased. By the way, they have an excellent 
substitute for sunlight in these dismal byways, not high- 
ways, through hills and mountains. A lamp placed in the 
roof of the carriage is lighted, and serves well to diminish 
at least, the darkness which is so near akin to that which 
once, it is said, occurred or was common in Egypt, but which 
happily does not at present prevail anywhere. Should, by 
chance, the Hoosac ever be perforated horizontally, the 
writer would suggest respectfully the trial of the system of 
the North European Chemin de Fer. 

It will be seen by our account of the remarkable changes 
which the surface undergoes near the frontiers of two im- 
portant nations, that geographical boundaries have a real 
existence in the changes of surface and in the rivers, chan- 
nels, friths, &c., which are found to pass between them. It 
is very striking in the cases of Belgium and Prussia, and I 
have given to it a distinct place, because of the beauty of 
the illustration it affords to our subject. In many cases the 
road passes through hill or mountain by a deep cut. This 
brings into view the kinds and positions of the rocks which 
are the bases of these elevations. I looked at all I could 
observe. The railroad is not the very best situation for 
geological inquiry, yet these roads furnish admirable op- 
portunities for such study. The rocks noticed seemed to be 
argillaceous, deeply coloured by iron, and loosely stratified. 
In some cases they are much more compact, and breaking in 
strong splintery fractures. 

Of the trees. Trees are national. Thus through our 
whole drive, black birch or aspen, and the poplar of Lom- 
bardy, are the prevailing ones. The birch has a very deli- 
cate feathery foliage. Its leaves are small and much sepa- 



JOURNAL. 105 

rated, so that the light passes very freely between them, and 
gives to the whole the appearance almost of blight or dis- 
ease. In Prussia the roads receive great attention. They 
are perfectly smooth, and have on both sides rows of trees, 
principally poplar. Roads, the old ones, are paved in the 
middle, w^hich secures uniformity of surface, which no other 
but McAdam's can boast, or only very partially obtain. The 
poplar is a thriving tree here, but singularly wanting in the 
properties of a shade tree, and the same remark applies to 
the birch. In the yard of the Hotel Bellevue, in Cologne, 
horsechestnuts are numerous, resembling ours exactly, 
except in the colour of the blossom. It is here some- 
times of a handsome red, and so differs quite from ours, 
which is perfectly white. The birds are numberless. 

We passed many places of interest on our way to Brus- 
sels. St. Omers, the second syllable is pronounced terribly 
long, Lisle, Ghent, Cappelle des bois, &c. &c. At Ghent 
is one of the most magnificent station houses in Europe, a 
crystal palace, being all of glass. We were a very pleasant 
party, communicating and receiving knowledge. An Eng- 
lish gentleman and his lady much pleased me. Two French 
gentleman were my companions part of a day, and we were 
getting on famously in French talking, but they at length 
reached their destination, and I saw them no more. An 
American resident joined us on the road. He was born in 
Germany, in Hanover, and told me his whole history. He 
was, he said, a publisher of music in Philadelphia, and was 
very largely engaged in his business. I could not but be 
amused now and then with his descriptions of America, but 
said nothing which could raise a suspicion that I was any 
other than a genuine John Bull. I have found advantage 
in this reserve. It may. however, sometimes have operated 
unfavourably, and have diminished both knowledge and 
pleasure. 



106 JOUKNAL. 

Bkijssels. — I continue my record concerning Brussels, 
which was broken off by driving about that city, and before 
I had said anything special concerning it. This is a great 
city. Its general plan is excellent, and the details are ad- 
mirably carried out. It is beyond all odds the cleanest 
place I have met with. Its buildings, public and private, 
are handsome, and so arranged as to place, oifices, grounds, 
as to make them very desirable residences. Brussels is 
literally arrayed in white. The houses are built of brick 
and then covered with a composition, which keeps its place 
admirably, and being painted white, produces the brilliant 
effect just mentioned. I have spoken of the mall. I had 
only looked at it. Since then I have walked all over it, and 
a grand place is it. So deep its shade, so dark, and so 
silent, but for birds, — so cool, and such living foliage ! 
One thing is characteristic, the trimming of the trees which 
bound the walks on one side, or near to the streets. The 
method is this : to cut them off at the top on an exact level. 
Then cut off every branch, and possibility of a branch many, 
many feet from the earth. Then to shave the branches till 
they are parallel. This shaving in every direction, on top, 
below, and on all sides, is so precisely managed, that the 
whole effect is to give you the idea of a hedge growing 
on posts, or supports, quite high from the ground. Though 
so perfectly Dutch, so painfully formal, the effect is not dis- 
tressing. Its novelty attracted me. The trees look as if 
the Hamadryads might weep and lament that their special 
and loved charges had been placed in circumstances so per- 
fectly in opposition to all their natural tendencies. These 
queer looking affairs extend long distances, and in the 
perspective produce curious effects. I went next to see 
sights. The Courts of Justice ; the Mansion House ; the 
Place of Martyrs, in which are buried all who fell in the 
battles of that Revolution which separated Belgium from 
Holland. It is a beautiful square, with a monument 
covered with massive sculptures, designed to embody and 



JOURNAL. 107 

perpetuate a sentiment wide indeed in its extent, for it 
embraces nations, but which, to my mind, expresses also a 
strong doubt, if not denial of that brotherhood which in its 
truth, its good, its beautiful, would so unite men in common 
interests, that wherever man was, there would be the 
country of all other men. These efforts to perpetuate the 
memory of war, have always seemed to me to proceed from 
imperfect views of man and his destiny. In the darkness 
of the Egyptian mind concerning this destiny, and in its 
theological system which taught that after many ages the 
soul would return to its body again, if that were preserved 
for its reception, embalming was an instinct as well as a 
duty. By a like reasoning, we arrive at the causes of build- 
ing the catacombs and pyramids for the preservation of the 
dead. In the later Greek, too, with his imperfect notions 
concerning a future life, what was more natural than that he 
should erect the everlasting monument, and in deep cut in- 
scriptions and exquisite sculptures, carry forward forever the 
memory of those who mouldered there, — to find in an ever- 
lasting memory a compensation for a limited life ? I say 
that, considering the condition of the race then, and taking 
along with it the wonderful development of that part of 
man's nature in which the creations of the sublime and the 
beautiful lie, — or out of which they come, — are we not 
furnished with the true explanation and theory of the vari- 
ous and successful efforts to make the memory of great na- 
tional events and of great men perpetual ? Patriotism gets 
dignity, yes, and truth too, out of this idea ; and while we 
ask no permanent records of that which always had one side 
of human wrong in it, we do not blame an age which had 
patriotism for its religion, and beauty for its expression, — 
which found the future in the present, and out of a hero 
made a God. Does Christianity make the same, or like 
demand ? Does the " resurrection at the last day " contain 
the doctrines of the present memorials of war ? Is war 
ever its teaching; ? 



108 JOIJENAL. 

Lace Making. — This is indeed the work of the hand 
or hands. We first visited the shop, or place in which 
the lace is kept for sale. The tables are covered with gor- 
geous crimson velvet, and when the laces are displayed upon 
them, the contrast between them and the velvet shows the 
former to the greatest possible advantage. Having made a 
purchase of lace as a specimen, I went with the showman of 
the place to the rooms in which the work is done. He 
spoke English well, as did a very handsomely dressed lady- 
like person, who assisted him in displaying laces of all sorts 
and of all prices. After this was accomplished, (and the 
purchase and sale, I assure you, cost about as much trouble 
as money,) we prepared to go to the room in which the lace 
is made. The trouble in the purchase was this : I was told 
with great eloquence, that such a specimen would never do, 
that you ladies would at once see that it was not the best, 
— that it was not a new pattern. That such a one had not 
yet reached London, — that I should have the honour of 
having the first piece sold. Then as to quantity. So many 
ells would be worthless, — that with so many, one could 
trim this, make that, — that it would never do to buy only 
so many, — the ladies would be wholly disappointed. Then 
price. But all this is enough. I bought just as much as I 
chose at just such a price, and was told it was all right ! 
Right in quantity, quality, and price. I was exceedingly 
amused at all this. In this old and magnificent city, for me, 
an old doctor of physic, thousands of miles from home, with 
such elegant people, talking about laces, and agreeing that 
this was beautiful, that not, with an air of profound knowl- 
edge concerning that of which I knew absolutely nothing. 

We went next to the lace makers. I was very much 
struck with our reception. It was no reception at all. 
Young and middle aged women were sitting at tables, in 
smaller or larger numbers, with their heads bent low to 
their work in most perfect silence, and as motionless as 
silent. Not a head moved, not an eye was for an instant 



JOURNAL. 109 

raised. I was affected by all this in a singular way. Here 
were many persons, but not a voice or movement. It was 
just as still before we entered, and our entrance produced 
not the least change. I recollected in the time of the 
cholera going into a hospital ward full of men with that 
terrible disease. There was agony of suffering, but not an 
audible sound. It seemed in the lace room as if I had been 
suddenly placed with living beings who had no voice, no 
power of motion. My attention was called by the guide to 
a very pleasing looking young woman, who was engaged in 
a very nice piece of work. She was making with her needle 
a copy of a beautiful flower. The process was thus. The 
pattern was covered except at one point, where was a round 
hole no larger than a ten cent piece, in the covering, and 
this she was to put into thread — the portion of the flower 
which occupied the hole. This opening was traversed by a 
few threads to divide off the part of the flower exposed. In 
her delicate finger and thumb she held the most minute 
needle I think I ever saw, threaded with the same thread 
as crossed the opening just referred to. My eye-glass was 
necessary for me to see the thread. Her work consisted in 
taking upon the needle its thread in such order as to pro- 
duce in lace the pattern itself. I watched the process with 
the deepest interest, and was surprised at the beautiful 
clearness and exactness of the detail. The guide would 
now and then interpose a word of explanation, — my pur- 
chase had won his heart, and had made him communicative. 
But the girl was not for an instant attracted by the sound 
of his voice, or by my English replies, " stitch, stitch, stitch." 
He took up the card in which was the opening through 
which a portion of the flower was seen, and thus showed to 
me the whole of its beauty. But even when this was done 
the beautiful lace-maker did not raise her head or move a 
finger. The instant the card was replaced, she continued 
her work. When we left her, he showed me a specimen of 
this work, I think, by this girl. It was exquisitely beauti- 
10 



110 JOUB^^AL. 

ful. A perfect flower in exquisite lace. Understand now, 
what I would convey. With her needle she had, so to 
speak, drawn, or more correctly, created a flower, not upon 
any thing else as a foundation, but the outline of its won- 
derful finish ; and the fillings up, and the openings, were the 
result of catching with the eye the proper thread which 
crossed the openings in the covering of the rest of the pat- 
tern, and carrying out the design with the needle and thread 
by the agencies of both hands. When this opening was 
finished, it was moved to another part of the flower. I 
now passed to others working on cushions with bobbins, a 
much less diflicult operation. Then to the transferring of 
figures to foundations. A sweet girl was engaged in this 
last. Her hair, of the richest brown, laced her fair temples. 
Her brow was beautiful, and her dark lashes, I have no 
doubt, shaded as beautiful eyes ; she did not for an instant 
raise them. Her complexion was pale, but showed in its 
delicacy, — exquisite fineness, — how beautiful the blessed 
air abroad would make it. There she sat, moving with most 
delicate fingers her mysterious needle, with its invisible 
thread, so as to produce exquisite efi'ects. Sterne's " ravel- 
lings of a spider's web" hardly teaches the whole concern- 
ing the material of this girl's toil. I had seen enough. 
*' Do not the eyes sufi'er," asked I of the guide, " in such a 
service as this ? " " O yes," he said, " it is very bad for the 
eyes." " How long," I asked, " can a girl do this fine work 
without losing the sight, or so impairing it as to be unable 
to use it more ? " " Not long," said the guide, " about five 
years, but women can work till thirty or forty years old on 
less fine work." All this and more was said loud enough 
for all to hear it. " And what can they earn a day ? " 
*' They work by the piece," said he, " and with constant work 
some make one franc, twenty cents, a day — some only ten, 
very rarely thirty cents." My very heart sunk within me. 
Ten, twenty, thirty cents a day, and the cost, — the eyes ! 
What, lose the sight and learn nothing which may be done 



JOURNAL. Ill 

afterwards to sustain life ! Lose health too ! To live in 
perpetual silence ! I learned what was the meaning of this 
stillness of body and tongue. These poor things had not 
time enough to look at the stranger, though from far beyond 
the sea. They could not afford so much vision. Their 
wretched pittance would be less by such a waste of sight. 
As I was about to leave the room, Charles looked at some- 
thing on a board near the last row of women, and attracted 
my attention to it by his finger. It was a notice in English 
that the box below the notice was " for sometliing for the 
poor lace women." Said he in a whisper, '-'' half a franc, 
ten cents, loill do.'''' I put in a crown, ten times his sum, 
and as it fell to the bottom of the box, the unusual sound 
reached the ears of these "poor women," and a gentle rust- 
ling passed through that room, before of silence, like death, 
and a faint hum of thanksgiving was in the still air. 

I know not what you may think of all this. But if you 
had seen that room, and if you had seen those women and 
girls sitting there, working themselves blind, — had felt 
that inexpressible silence and stillness, and then had felt 
too, that the smallest act of kindness had so moved them, 
you would understand how impossible it has been for me to 
forget that visit, — how deeply, — yes, how deeply it drove 
itself into my very soul. You talk of missionaries, who 
shall carry the lesson of Christian love to the heathen ! 
Are there not Christians who have not yet learned it ? 

By one of those coincidences, which may almost be re- 
garded as something other than accidents, just after writing 
the above, I met with a report of a Committee of the 
English Parliament, in Galignani, on the condition of lace 
and stocking weavers in England, in regard to health, sight, 
&c. It was stated in the report, that the results to health 
and sight to the operative, very closely resembled what I 
learned of the same classes of operatives in Brussels. 

Cologne. — I am now in the Cologne Bellevue Hotel, — 



112 JOUKNAL. 

the crack house, — and am still writing up my journal of 
Brussels. Our hotel has its band of music, and as far as I 
can judge, the music is excellent. The band plays in the 
latter part of the afternoon ; and at tables spread under the 
trees, men and women are sitting, drinking beer, or stronger, 
smoking and eating. I struck off to the hotel because of 
the band, and I will now say what I have to say concerning 
it. Recollect that I am at Cologne. The Hotel Bellevue 
is on the other side of the Rhine, and opposite to the main 
city. As I sit at my window, I have before me the city in 
its whole length. As evening advances, the lights appear 
in all the buildings, and in most of the river craft, making 
a very brilliant exhibition. Public buildings, fortresses, 
the Cathedral, &c., are before me. I walked next day over 
the city. The Cathedral, the foundations of which were 
laid centuries ago, which fire has destroyed, and which now 
is again rebuilding — the Cathedral was first visited. It is 
of vast dimensions. A portion with a temporary roof is 
used for service. Numerous confessionals are at hand for 
the faithful or the unfaithful. I went to the-markets. They 
are entirely in the hands of the women, and presented the 
most lively scene I encountered in Cologne. The eggs are 
sold in fifteens instead of twelves, which in good earnest 
makes a fair baker's dozen. I wandered about till I was 
well tired, and came back to the Bellevue. The Rhine 
most attracted me. It rises in Mount St. Goatherd of the 
Alps, and rushes along in a serpentine course, increasing in 
breadth as it comes. It passes through the lake Bodensee, or 
Constance, colouring its clear waters with its yellow stream. 
It passes to the sea at or near Rotterdam. It was its force 
of current which most struck me at Cologne. It seemed 
an accident, but its mountain-source makes it perpetual. 
A steamer will require two days to ascend the Rhine, while 
her passage down, a like distance, will be performed in one. 
The Rhine is crossed by a bridge of boats. It is built in 
sections, so that two boats should make one. Suppose a 



JOUEXAL. 113 

steamer or other craft is to pass the hridge ; this is done at 
once b}' removing a section or portion of the bridge, by 
turning it aside. As soon as the boat has passed, the por- 
tion removed is immediately replaced. In spring, Avhen the 
ice is coming down, and in masses threatening great injury 
to the bridge, so many portions are removed as will give the 
freest passage to the ice, and so prevent great destruction. 

We left Cologne late on Saturday evening. This pre- 
vented, till morning, about two, much observation of the 
country passed. But as I was told by a fellow-traveller that 
the region was very poor in much of its soil, and that its 
cultivation resembled much that which I had passed, I felt 
the less disappointed than I might otherwise have been. 

Sunday morning came in fogs and clouds, the most un- 
pleasant morning I have seen. But it was quite light 
enough to see how Sunday was passed here. It was very 
much like other days ; men and women were working in 
the fields. Amusements provided in their ordinary places. 
From Harburg we descended the Elbe to Hamburg, and 
the boat was as lively as on any other day. I was told 
more so, for it was crowded by parties in search of pleasure. 
We had a band of music playing any other than divine airs, 
and drinking, eating, and everlasting smoking filled the 
time. At Hamburg, the approach to which is very hand- 
some, the shore being green with the finest forest trees, 
with country seats sprinkled among them, — at Hamburg 
the gay life, the Sabbath holiday was in full presence, and 
the people everywhere rejoiced. 

Hamburg. — Here I am in this far-off town, the birds 
in multitudes, and beautiful weather travelling wdth me. I 
am up at my old hour of about four, washed thoroughly, 
dressed, not shaved, for thanks to the climate, or something 
else, shaving is not thought healthful in the Germanic ter- 
ritories, including Denmark, into which I extended my 
march yesterday. Hamburg has entirely disappointed me. 
10* 



114 JOURNAL. 

I knew of it half a century ago, -when the house of G. & C. 
of my native town, sent ships there, and got from thence 
much goods. My knowledge has not at all increased since, 
in that direction. I find it to be a fine city, or free town, 
more properly called. One part of it is built in the an- 
cient Dutch style, with the houses extremely narrow, high, 
and their queer little gables to the street. The other, and 
a large part, is built in the latest and best style. Huge 
blocks of dwelling houses, stores, shops, hotels in crowds, 
abounding everywhere in this region. I could not at first 
reconcile this near approach, this overlapping of the old 
upon, or to the new. The explanation was at hand. My 
courier explained the mystery. In 1842, nearly eighteen 
hundred houses were burnt, in May. The fire made clear 
work of the city in that part of it, and literally swept away 
everything except a small, very small wooden building, 
which stood like the prophet in the furnace, unscorched, 
though heated seven times hotter than fire ever was before. 
The Hamburgers, out of reverence for such preservation, 
have built in the very place, and of the same size, a brick 
building, which is quite gay with green and flowers, and 
covers the house so strangely preserved. I have read some- 
where that a shanty of Peter the Great, in St. Petersburg, 
has been preserved by Alexander, in somewhat the same 
manner, inclosed in a permanent stone house, or case. Now 
this old part, the " burnt district," is splendidly replaced 
by the new; I said so, last evening, to a "native here." 
He did not agree with me. " The old," said he, "is pic- 
turesque, is poetical, those gable ends ; the new is prac- 
tical, and to me has no sentiment." Now was not this 
queer ? He was a man known on the Exchange, a business 
merchant, taking the cudgels with me on a matter of mere 
sentiment, and expressing a fondness for the merest baby- 
house architectural deformities, you can well imagine, and 
against the free, the open, near by, and finely aired edifices 
for human comfort. This was not surprising to me, for the 



JOURNAL. 115 

day before he had defended an old black wind mill, to my 
mind wholly out of place, because it was picturesque, had 
life, and gave life, as he said, to the really beautiful, living 
nature about it, — the Alster, and its fine scenery. 

Hamburg is on the Alster and the Elbe, the latter as 
yellow a stream as was the Rhine when I first saw it, or is 
the Mississippi, or even the yellow Tiber. I never saw such 
a mud puddle as is the Elbe ; and the canals, which are 
important business ways here, one of which comes almost 
to the door of my hotel, are even more muddy than their 
parent river. I hope both Elbe and Rhine get a little 
cleaner before they reach Rotterdam, or the ocean may well 
be ashamed to receive such tributaries into its clear bosom. 
But with all this, the banks of the Elbe are beautiful. They 
are dressed in the richest, darkest green the forest or the 
grove ever wears. I passed these spots on Sunday, and my 
first leisure yesterday was occupied by a drive through that 
beautiful region. You pass at once from Hamburg into 
Holstein, Denmark. The only partition is a line of wood 
not noticed by me, and strong gates at the places where 
the streets of Hamburg are continuous with those of Hol- 
stein, or rather with those of the town of Altona, which 
seems to be only a continuation or suburb of Hamburg. 

In the middle of the thirteenth century, Hamburg, Lubec, 
and Bremen, united for protection against the pirates and 
enemies which the mercantile interest encountered in the 
Elbe. In 1229, a confederation was made between Ham- 
burg and Hadeln, for mutual protection. In 1247, Bruns- 
wick joined them. Additions continued to be made, till, in 
1260, a diet was held in Lubec, and the union received the 
name of Hanse, which, in the old Teutonic dialect, means 
League. The progress of the league was rapid, so that it 
came to number eighty-five towns. It acquired political 
importance. It exercised a judicial power, inflicting the 
greater and the lesser ban. It was extended to England, 
and privileges were granted to the Hanse towns. At length 



116 



JOUEI^AL. 



it became mistress of crowns, lands, and seas. All that 
could be obtained or was desired from the league, was at 
length obtained. The confederation was dissolved. In 
1630, its last diet was held in Lubec, the town in which its 
first meeting was held. Hamburg, Lubec, and Bremen 
(and in certain cases Dantzic was admitted among them) 
continued united, though not under the name of Hanseatic 
towns. Hamburg, Bremen, Lubec, and Frankfort, are styled 
in the German confederations, the four free cities. 

Hamburg has its own government, consisting of a senate 
and of two burgomasters. They make laws, raise revenues, 
keep troops, regulate police, &c. Before the laws take 
effect they are submitted to the people, who vote for or 
against them, as they think best, and their vote is final. 
The place is a very quiet one. Through the canals, goods 
are carried to the warehouses. I have observed this same 
quiet in other German cities. I have seen no drunkards or 
any police in any of them. I was amused yesterday with a 
police order, which was lying near me at an ice cream 
house. The cream was excellent, though not as per- 
fectly fine as Gunter's, in London. The order set forth, as 
translated by my courier, that if children made any noise in 
the streets, they should be taken to jail, and whipped with 
rods, for wilfully breaking the peace of the honest burghers. 
I thought they would make more noise for the whipping. 
I certainly heard none in the streets. There is nice care of 
horses here. I went into the stables of the mounted troops 
of Hamburg, the Chasseurs, and saw in them splendid 
horses. They were kept in fine order, their coats clean, 
bright, lively, — their beds excellent, and ventilation per- 
fect. I had never before seen a military stable, and was 
much pleased with this specimen. The civil horses are also 
well kept. The draft ones wear no blinders, but have the 
fullest use of their eyes, and they are bright ones, I assure 
you. 

Workmen have everywhere their own modes. Here, the 



JOURNAL. 117 

Hod Carriers of America, use narrow, shallow trays to 
carry mortar in. Bricks were carried up by hand, I was 
told. But this suits the German mind admirably. You 
know how reflective it is. How tolerant the race is of 
clothing, as if ballast were useful, where unobstructed mo- 
tion might be hazardous. An Englishman, with whom I 
travelled to Hamburg, told me that a countryman of his had 
buildings, warehouses, to be erected here, and desired much to 
bring his workmen from England, but this was not permitted, 
and he had to see daily action almost without progress, till 
he was tired of the virtue of patience. How germain to 
the national character was that little tray of mortar, and 
how weary it had been for him that carried it, had he been 
given to hurry ! It was often a somewhat dizzy height 
to which he had to bear his homosopathic load. 

Hamburg is a place of great commercial activity. It does 
business as a centre for a wide circle. The Exchange is 
very large, and is said to be the most crowded in Europe. 
Character is of the deepest import in such a community, 
and he who has wilfully done wrong, failed fraudulently, or 
in any other way has made a sacrifice of character for gain, 
is most severely punished. A merchant named to me one 
who has lately made a fraudulent failure, who before had 
an excellent character, and was deemed very rich. He is 
in close jail, and can never recover himself from the degra- 
dation to which his base conduct has reduced him. This 
seems a harsh morality, a strictness beyond the rule. But 
I said above, everybody engaged in business here, learns 
from the earliest days of his apprenticeship that his whole 
present, and his whole future in Hamburg, depend entirely 
upon his strict probity. If he fail, he honestly fails ; or 
falls, never to rise again. You will not be amused at these 
dry details. But I came to see, hear, and inwardly digest, 
and so I give you some of the results. 

I have already said something of the German capacity for 
"victuals and drink." They daily give me food for new 



118l journal. 

admiration. The Hamburgers are not a whit behind their 
constitutional countrymen. Passing from the steamer to 
my lodgings, and of course through the most thirsty part 
of the hurg^ I was struck greatly by the signs. They read 
*' Weinhandlung, und Destination " on almost every door, 
or above, — wine and liquor seemed the universal language. 
With all this, I have seen no drunkenness, none of the 
brutal exhibitions of cities out of Germany. And you see 
no police. They may be about, but if so, partake so largely 
of the Dogberry vein, that they never harm the ill-behaved, 
if any such exist here. You see this love of sustenance 
wherever you may be. All establishments for eating, and 
especially for drinking, are most liberally patronized at any 
and all parts of the day. In the evening, including the 
latter part of the afternoon, the country about cities is 
largely visited. Music, for which these people have knowl- 
edge and love, is ever a part of the entertainment. Bands 
are found in many places, at hotels and elsewhere. The 
Elbe steamer had its band. They are paid by collections 
from the company. Looking out at my window at Cologne, 
or Coin, as commonly called here, I saw under the trees 
many narrow tables, with permanent seats on both sides, 
all painted, and looking very nice. The rapid Rhine went 
rushing by the place within a very few feet of the garden, 
if such it may be, and as here is, named. In the evening, or 
rather afternoon, I found these seats rapidly filling. Well 
dressed men and women were collecting, beer and other 
drinks were in rapid circulation, various articles of tempting 
food were on the tables, and the everlasting pipe and cigar 
in brisk use. After a time I walked down among this large 
assembly. It was a very quiet one, very little was said, and 
that not noisily ; very little or no laughing. Not long after 
I heard music. Quite a full band was under my window, 
and a place built up for them. There they played at inter- 
vals for some time, and greatly to the pleasure of the com- 
pany. In Hamburg, towards evening, we had music and 



JOUKNAL. 119 

singing at or near the hotel. This union of music with 
other means of pleasure at these large assemhlages of the 
people for social objects, gives them a character very different 
from our own country holidays. These are rare with us, — 
are noisy, often intemperate in their tendency, and in them- 
selves. There is no sentiment, there is no such enjoyment 
as good music affords to them who understand and love it. 
In Germany the whole story is unlike this. As we have 
seen, the meetings are really social. The parties know each 
other. The music, as well as the cigar and the beer, are 
criticized, and the indulgence of the appetite comes to be 
associated with higher pleasures. You see everywhere here 
that there is something other ; more and better, yes, better, 
than every day drudgery, and hard toil. Here at the close 
of the day, and in the long twilight, families and friends 
come together. They come often, fill ihe garden, or the 
mall, and in laying aside the working e very-day dress, give 
up toil and trouble too, and in their new dress find for the 
hour a new heart and a new life. I cannot but think of 
home at these times, and deeply regret that we too have not 
our hours, daily or weekly, for social gatherings, to see each 
other, and to hear music that is wusic. You need not have 
the beer. This is not essential to such gatherings, or to 
such pleasures. You must indeed have the eating, and the 
drinking too, and it may be easily had of such articles as 
do not involve the evils of bad habits. I can say this, that 
even in the crowded Sunday steamer on the Elbe, in which 
a most curious assortment was collected, in which a shower 
drove great numbers down to a very small cabin, — and in 
which was drinking, eating, and music, yes, music too, I 
saw no drunkenness, or any approach to it. Men and 
women were not on a drinking spree or hoiU, but on a 
pleasure excursion, to which music, smoking, eating and 
drinking largely pertained, not as accidents, but as necessary 
accompaniments. And yet there \vas no excess, and though 
there were joke and laugh, there was no riot, no indecorum. 



120 JOUIINAL. 

You say this was not the hest way in which to pass the 
Sabbath. This is a Catholic country, as have been nearly 
all in which I have sojourned lately, and it is a part of the 
custom, if not faith, of that church, to regard the Sabbath as 
a day of rest from all toil, and as a day for amusement, 
recreation, — a holiday, which if made holy by passing a part 
of it in church, in the confession of sin, and in worship, is 
not necessarily made unholy by passing the rest of it in 
social gatherings, and in such pleasures as the popular 
culture or habit may give rise to. Few questions in morals 
or religion have been more discussed or more variously 
determined, than such as are involved in the inquiry con- 
cerning the best use of man's various and antagonistic 
nature. The physical, the moral, the intellectual, and the 
religious, — for some philosophers tell us that piety, worship, 
spiritual culture, have their being and exercise in a religious 
element or faculty in the constitution of man, — these four 
cardinal elements all deserve and demand the most perfect 
development. He who so uses one or more as to overlay 
by such use, — to bury up, make useless the rest, has failed 
in his apprehension of his own nature, — knows not " what 
manner of man he is," and will certainly make a failure of 
the great experiment of human life. In the cultivation of 
the whole man, is the harmony of a perfect instrument in 
perfect tune. Its language is ever true music. Happiness, 
contentment, are its accompaniments, for they are its sure 
products. The balance is preserved, and life flows on in 
successive felicities ; and its sorrows, if such come, may 
have the sanctification of a good, a divine temper, and come 
to be blessings as sure as are the nearest pleasures. 

In Germany pleasure thus walks side by side with labour. 
The cultivation of taste does not conflict at all with the 
labour which brings with it physical development. The 
popular religion is reverenced, for in the Cathedral, and in 
all which enters into its idea, is such ministry to the senses 
as may reach to the heart. I have been in these Cathe- 



JOUKNAL. 121 

drals, generally on secular days. I have found in them the 
poor, the infirm, the aged, on their knees, at the celebration 
of the mass, and at all hours, — nay, more, I have seen 
little children at the cradle of the infant Jesus, with 
hands on their breasts, looking at the emblem of the mys- 
tery reposing there. Their mothers were there on their 
knees pressing the stone, and uttering in low tones their 
prayers. Thus was the earliest lesson of these poor, proba- 
bly very ignorant women to their children, a service of wor- 
ship with which "little children" were anointed, as if there 
were really to them a truth in that great saying, " of such 
is the kingdom of Heaven." 

So much for the German popular life, as I have seen it, 
and for the national religion. Say what you may concerning 
either or both, you must certainly conclude that the people 
have discovered what contributes most to their pleasures, and 
that they are faithful to their knowledge. The time will 
probably come, when at home we shall learn, that life is 
better than everlasting labour, and that pleasure is sure, and 
only sure, when it forms a part, a most important part, 
towards the enjoyment and development of man's whole 
nature, — his every-day life. 

The traveller's attention is called to the various condi- 
tions of the people among whom he may be thrown. The 
highest classes are the creations and conservators of conven- 
tions, and as these are catching, not much variety is ob- 
served in these orders of different countries. Admittance is 
not easy to such, and so wholly artificial is the whole life, 
that a "brick" is a fair specimen of the whole "house." 
We have seen something of the life of the great mass of 
many people, and now a moment for the poor, " whom ye 
always have with you." In England, beggary is an open, 
out-door business, and in very numerous hands. On the 
continent, I have scarcely seen it at all in cities, and in 
the country, it is most seen in the Austrian Tyrol. One 
or two paupers only attracted attention in Hamburg, for 
11 



122 JOUKNAL. 

instance ; but there was so little rudeness in the demands 
of the poor seen there, — in fact there was no rudeness, but 
such gentleness, — that you hardly thought it possible there 
was any poverty there at all. It was an emperor who one 
day decreed there should be no poverty abroad in his great 
capital, and street beggary disappeared as by magic. Now 
it may be that there are no beggars in Hamburg, because 
the good burgomasters have decreed it out of the streets. 
However this may be, I certainly saw but few evidences of 
that poverty which we have at home, and which we see in 
such variety of expression in the streets of some cities in 
Europe. 

The dress of people is attractive. It is quite distinctive 
in Europe, each place having its own costumes, or each some 
single article which is their own. In America, shoes are 
made of leather. Here, in some places, they are made of 
wood. Head gear is often peculiar, — that of domestics 
and that of their employers. The little white cap upon 
nicely combed hair is very becoming, and very common 
in Germany among domestic girls, — servants here so called. 
Their bonnets and hats have all forms. I should think 
there was much less tyranny of custom or fashion in these 
matters than with us. Between the cap and the shoe, the 
head and the foot, dress has a very wide margin, and in- 
dulges its privileges in every possible way. Still every 
people has its style, its expression of taste, and it is in 
this we find the true causes of those varieties in costume 
which give character to peoples. 

Beelin. — Left Hamburg yesterday at half past seven, 
and reached this capital of a great kingdom between three 
and four, p. m. I say great, not because of its population, 
for this is not very great. I say so because of its history, 
audits present position among nations. This morning is very 
beautiful. The birds are with me still ; and if the Rhine 
and the Elbe have passed my hotel windows often of late, 



JOURNAL. 123 

I can welcome the Spree now, which is a clearer stream 
than either of the others, and passes by me with a gentle 
murmur in its way. The drive yesterday was of little 
interest. We passed Hamburg into Mecklenburg, and 
thence into Prussia. Here luggage is examined, and mine 
again, because, though I had already been in Prussia, and 
had passport and trunks examined, I had since been in 
other kingdoms or states, and a new inspection was required 
when I entered Prussia again. A union in regard to duties 
has been made by several states in the north of Europe, — 
the Zolverein. An examination in one state suffices for all 
the others which belong to the union or league. The Zol- 
verein does not embrace all, as Prussia, Austria, Russia, &c. 
In these, inspection is required with a view to ascertain if 
any contraband articles, or any paying duty, are in the lug- 
gage. The former are seized ; on the others, the duties are 
demanded. I was detained but a short time, however, for 
my courier has travelled so long, that he is fully aufait to 
all these matters. It is truly quite pleasant to have in your 
service, or in yourself, true, exact knowledge. How smooth 
do the rough places become, and how clear the obscure. 
My watch was put dreadfully out of time by the great dif- 
ference in longitude between America and England, more 
than four hours. I let it go the old time ; and now for the 
life of it, poor thing, it cannot catch up with the changed 
hours. I put forward the hands constantly, but it wont 
do, it is truly, without a figure of speech, " no go.'' 

My fellow-travellers were two Germans. Sometimes we 
had five smokers at once in a carriage of eight. They were 
pleasant young men, and would have talked with me with 
pleasure could we have understood each other. The courier 
did well with them. The road was through a sandy region, 
and the least interesting and least cultivated of any I have 
met with. At times, a fine green spot, splendid forest trees. 
The birches, poplars, and willows are less frequent. The 
sand w^ould not give them footing, and wretched, tall, and 
most gaunt pine trees have replaced them. 



124 JOURNAL. 

All along the road the women were at work. Hard is 
their lot. Where are the men ? Children, girls oftener, far 
oftener than boys, are among the workers in the fields. In the 
height of the heat, work is abandoned, and the women were 
seen lying under trees, if any were, else stretched at length, 
with their faces in the sand, in the whole power of the 
burning sun. They were better off than the poor lace 
makers, for they might rest, — yes, cover their eyes from 
the hot light, and wait for a cooler hour in which to look 
up again. The farm houses looked better than any I have 
seen. Better glazed, better offices, trees, &c., around them. 
The vegetable gardens particularly attracted attention. 
They were exceedingly neat, and the growths were luxu- 
riant. Flower beds abounded, and in short everything 
seemed to be done which might contribute to comfort or to 
luxury. I saw very few people about the houses, — almost 
none, — no children, nor other living, moving thing. I 
seriously do not believe that cats have been brought to Ger- 
many ; certainly I have not seen one. A remarkable still- 
ness was everywhere. The houses are queerly built. 
Bricks are scarce, and stones none. So they make their 
walls only one brick thick, and, to prevent the wall coming 
down, they build in, so to speak, narrow timber or planks 
in various directions, parallel, and at angles from each 
other, two or three feet apart. These being connected 
together, and held in their places by the bricks, the wall is 
kept from tumbling, nay, a strong wall is made. So much 
for architecture. Do not weary of my dulness, for I do not 
require you to read. I should greatly like to go into one 
of these houses, and into the mud-walled and thatched cot- 
tages. But the inexorable train, — the convoy, as they 
call it, the carriages, — will not let me, and making enough 
German miles a day to equal about two hundred English 
ones, leaves very little time for romancing, and the cottage 
silence is not broken by me. 

*' The house I live in," the Hotel de Russie, is of excellent 



JOURNAL. 125 

appointments in all that pertains to house demands. The 
service is as good as need be ; more than is in use, and so 
sometimes in or out of the way. My room is on the first 
floor, the second with you ; the paper, ceihngs, walls, 
splendid ; all toilet demands fully answered ; bureaus, 
chairs, couch and sofa, perfect ; the floor pannelled diamond- 
wdse of oak, with invisible junctures, and so waxed and 
polished, that it must be woe to him, who taketh not heed 
to his steps. I suppose my French boots understood these 
floors, for I got along pretty well. There hangs a portrait, 
quite well painted, of Nicholas, the Czar of all the Russias. 
He must be a very handsome man, with much force of ex- 
pression. He is younger than I had supposed, of very fine 
form. The frame is surmounted by the armorial bearings 
of Russia, the double-headed eagle, which with its spread 
Avings stands as the protecting power of a great State. I 
should not forget, in describing my quarters, that my pol- 
ished floor has, I suppose, out of compliment to its present 
occupier, a bit of booking all round, which makes the foot- 
ing not only safe, but comfortable. My first breakfast 
amused me. My 005*66 holder was a small nice cream pot, 
which held just one cup and a half of liquid. I, not think- 
ing of such an outfit in such a palace, supposed that the 
poor thing, it being rather hot, contained hot milk, and 
went on reading Galignani, expecting the coffee pot. At 
length getting curious, I looked into the mysterious little 
specimen of china, and lo and behold, it was my breakfast ! 
The cream vessel held about two table spoonfuls of milk, 
with a little melted butter floating upon it, — Germanice, 
cream. Two small very hard rolls, and a pat, not pot, of 
butter, just the size of a new cent, viz., one not worn quite 
thin, completed the Berlin breakfast. Now when you see 

Mr. , brother of precious , and whom, viz., I am 

determined not to forget ; when you see friend , ask 

him what he thinks of a Prussian breakfast, of " our own 
times.'' I think I have met with untravelled gentlemen, 
11* 



126 JOUKNAL. 

who might have said a somewhat profane grace upon such a 
meal. I forget two eggs, and they were too small for 
memory. They were laid expressly for the Hotel de Russia, 
and more especially for my breakfast. 

Bee.liis'. — Penelope renews the heavy work. Yesterday 
was a time of business. I called on Mr. Barnard, and Mr. 
Sparks's letter secured his kindest attentions. I next called 
on Mr. Fay, the Secretary of Legation. Mr. F. was out, 
but Mrs. F. was at home, and I found her a most agreeable 
lady. Thence I went to Schneider's, bookseller, and there 
saw the German translation of your uncle, Rev. Dr. Chan- 
ning's works. Ten volumes are out, and five more are 
coming. It is an exceedingly cheap edition, the fifteen 
volumes costing but fifteen shillings. Had it been complete, 
I would have purchased it. Went to the old picture gal- 
lery, and staid as long as my lame leg would let me. There 
was Titian's Fruit Girl, so called, which no money can buy. 

An ice cream shop next brought me up, and the cream was 
good. That is, it was not a cream at all, but a very nice 
fruit ice, which abroad many ice creams are. Next I went 
to the banker's and got some money, and sent my letter to 
you and friend A — — , and this brought three o'clock and 
dinner. This last was, as usual, a long aff^air, for a very 
long carte had to be devoured before the meal was done. 
It was the old thing again, perhaps twenty dishes, and of most 
small amounts each. Larger would be absurd. You take 
about two mouthfuls of each, and by the time the two, 
three, or four varieties have circulated, you are ready for 
two mouthfulls more. This makes a dinner a wonderful 
affair. Human wit is truly exercised, and strange creations 
come forth. Two dishes stirred me. We had the^rs^ peas. 
So youthful were they, that they promised absolute sweet- 
ness. But the prophecy was not fulfilled. The cook had 
stewed the peas with young carrots, a most hateful marriage, 
and wretched enough was the product. Something was 



JOURNAL. 127 

brought to me. I asked what ? Ice cream, was the answer. 
But it was a warm ice cream. This was a blunder, which 
is always worse than a crime, and which destroying- itself, 
left me no alternative but to drop the spoon and to retire. 
Went to my den, and after a time, strolled out with Charles. 
Very warm. Strayed again into the ice cream house. As 
we passed along, said C, the morning cream was sixpence, 
this evening it is twelvepence. But I told him we would 
not complain, for the ice, unlike the dinner one, was cold. 
Bought a cane. A Catholic church door was open, and I 
proposed to enter. Directly opposite was the opera house, 
and thither fashion was speeding. The poor were on the 
'vvay to the church. It is a large circular building. It was 
well filled. The organ was grand, and the chanting in 
harmony. After the chanting, the service of the altar pro- 
ceeded. It was evening mass. The host was elevated. 
And as the mystery w^as next presented to the people in the 
cloud of incense, and the bell rang, the whole congregation 
were on their knees, save only one, a tall young soldier, 
who stood next to me. The host was turned, a bell was 
rung. The young man with his arm folded, stood firm. 
The host was turned to one side ; another bell. He re- 
mained erect. Again it was turned, and now directly 
towards the young soldier. The third bell. He yielded. 
His cap fell to the floor, and his knees upon it with an 
emphasis which startled me. It seemed as if he had said 
with Coriolanus, when his mother kneels to him : 
" Sink, my knee, i' the ecarth ; 

Of thy deep duty more impression show. 

Than that of common sons." 

The service was over, the doors were slowly opened, and the 
people left the house of God. 

One morning my attention was attracted by the loud 
howling of a dog in the street, and going to the window, 
I saw a very large dog harnessed to a low carriage on four 
wheels ; on it was a water cask just filled at the Spree, and 



128 joums-AL. 

which that grand animal was not only dragging, but abso- 
lutely running along with, so that his master must run to 
keep up with him. Truly these Germans are a wonderful 
people. I say again, that abroad, one does, at least I do, 
like to see the people of the place, and their ways. 

I had in the evening a very pleasant visit at the Minister's. 
Mr. Barnard lives in No. 75 in the Linden. He occupies a 
jiat, or a story, and in very nice style does he live. I sup- 
pose his office, in some sense, is a sinecure, as he passed his 
last winter in Italy. So at least, I was told. Now how do 
you suppose I learned this ? It came to me in my walk 
home. It was thus. I drove to No. 75, as it looked like 
rain. But as I came into the hall from the parlour on my 
return, I found the courier. I reached the street, and my 
carriage was not in sight. I asked the reason. He said, as 
the evening was now fine, he thought I might prefer to walk, 
and in my walk he said, that the Minister passed his last 
winter in Italy, for his maid had told him so, and farther, 
that Mr. B. would return to America in the autumn. He 
had learned more of ministerial arraugememts than I had. 
I say here with the greatest pleasure, and most entire 
confidence, that whoever may supersede the present incum- 
bent, will have to be a good deal of a man to make good 
his place. I feel greatly indebted to the Minister, and am 
most happy to acknowledge my obligation. 

There was little night in Berlin last night. The twi- 
light was perfect. I watched it at my open window, till 
after twelve, and rose from my bed to see it longer. It 
was of an exquisite brightness, or rather lightness. It 
extended long in the horizon, and marked the passage of 
the submerged sun in its parallel line or course along the 
horizon. I was constantly looking for the sun to start into 
view, so near seemed it to the horizon. But it travelled 
along with a varying, and rather increasing light, and very 
probably rose not very long after I fell asleep. I was asleep 
at about one, and true to their instincts, my eyes opened to 



JOURNAL. • 129 

the long day before four, and I was at once up to toilet 
and to pen. I am surprised that I need so little sleep. I 
was never one of the seven. But now I sleep less than ever. 
And yet, as I wrote you yesterday, I was never in better 
health. In Russia I fear I shall scarcely sleep at all. At 
the Minister's 1 met with Mr. Brown, a son of the Chief 
Engineer of the Russian Railway, and was happy to learn 
that he will leave Stettin with me in the steamer on Satur- 
day for St. Petersburg. Mrs. Fay had told me how very 
pleasant he was, and my evening's talk with him of a few 
minutes, satisfied me that the description was fully borne 
out by Mr. B. himself. (Another water cask is filled, and 
that howling dog is running away with it !) 

I have said nothing of Berlin as a place. It is large, 
covering much space, and holding many people, some hun- 
dred thousands, I am told. It is full of things ; such as 
palaces, galleries, monuments, public buildings in fullest 
numbers ; barracks as numerous as other buildings, squares, 
shrubberies, flowers, forests of roses, on the very sides of 
streets, brushed by your clothes, but always safe, apparently 
never touched, filling the air with the richest odours. Mig- 
nionette and heliotrope are abundant, each delighting smell 
and sight. These things are very pleasant. They are for 
all. The little child I saw last evening as I was going to 
the church, would sometimes touch a leaf or flower, but he 
broke nothing off", hurt nothing. All sorts of objects pre- 
sent themselves to the common eye, and must do good. It 
is an expression of refinement to leave the beautiful, the rare, 
and the near, unspoiled, so that thousands beside our self 
may have the pleasure. You say the reverence comes of 
fear. Very well. I saw no agent of power to preserve 
roses, so near as to much fear him ; but I still did not 
touch what in the damp night will surely die. Why is it, 
that we of the Anglo Saxon blood love to ruin, rather than 
take pleasure in things ? The roughest mountaineer who 
comes up to Rome at the great festivals of that gorgeous 



130 JOURNAL. 

churcli, wanders througli the Vatican, and is satisfied with 
the vision of beauty and of power there. He never touches 
what he sees, as if by another sense to get more knowledge. 
I remember a foreign lecturer in America, who was about to 
send round to his class some objects of great interest, but 
very easily broken. He said he had heard that Americans 
had been characterized by a traveller as always very curious 
to learn the strength of things. He would assure us that 
his specimens were very delicate, very easily broken, and 
hoped and trusted that we would not try their strength ! 

There are other things in Berlin, which go as far to fill 
it up, as does anything else, — I mean soldiers. I have seen 
nothing like the numbers of these. You understand what 
the barracks mean, when you see the soldiery. While I am 
a;t this moment- writing, a large number of soldiers are 
passing the hotel. Their uniform, blue coats trimmed with 
red, their white pantaloons, their tall caps with down hang- 
ing white plumes, their short, stout, side arms, all tell of 
discipline, for everything is in most perfect order, and tells 
you how great has been the care. This large body in pla- 
toons of six or eight, make but one sound as their stout 
nailed shoes strike the pavement in their exactly cotempora- 
neous tramp. I followed them with my eye some little 
distance, till they wheeled to pass the bridge which crosses 
the Spree. Guard is mounted at every point at which any- 
thing belongs, however remotely, to the State. The old 
Palace, which at present is not inhabited, the king being at 
Breslau with the Czar, and who, when at home, passes his 
summers at the Sans Souci in Pottsdam, has its appointed 
guard. All this has doubtless an agency in producing the 
great quiet and order noticed here. I see no police with 
uniform and badge, and yet I was never in a more orderly, 
less noisy city. There is very little stir, bustle, crowd. 
There seems to be very little business transacted here. The 
courier says the rich have left the city for the country, — 
have taken their equipages with them, and the external 



JOUKNAL. 1.31 

appearance here is not at all what it is in the fashionable 
season. In the street before the hotel is an exquisite flute, 
filling its neighbourhood with its music. You would rejoice 
to hear at a safe distance so much sweetness and so much 
power. The player is doing all he can for a groschen, and 
I hope he will succeed. As he comes every morning, it is 
highly probable he gets the money. Berlin looks very old. 
The houses are not often painted, I should think. The 
composition in places is broken, discoloured, and a general, 
dark, dingy colour prevails, as from smoke, dust, &c. I 
allude to the part of the city in which I live. Across the 
street and narrow river Spree, is the Palace of the present 
king. In direct rear of this, is a row of houses of all shapes 
and sizes reaching to the river ; so that a door from the 
lowest story opens upon a four-sided bread-trough shaped 
boat, and a woman has just finished rinsing her morning 
wash over the side of the flat-boat. Thus do the Palace 
and the paiiperum tabernas run side by side, as was their 
wont when time was earlier. 

June 10th. — Before I had finished breakfast, some friends 
called to invite me to visit the Palace, &c. ; in other words, 
to see sights. I have a cool abhorrence of all this business. 
First, I hate it from principle ; secondly, from fact. I hold 
curiosity to be a very wretched interpolation into this nature 
of ours, and I am somewhat lazy withal just now, and a 
little lame. But there was kindness in being included in 
such an efibrt. I left my breakfast not half eaten, and 
knew the table d'hote hour too well to be doubtful as to 
the possible and probable state of the inner man which my 
rashness would involve. 

A few days ago, being in London, my wanderings took 
me very near to the British Museum. Dr. Boot, of Boston, 
but long an inhabitant of London, had advised me by all 
means to visit the Museum. • I cannot let this mention of 
this gentleman pass without an acknowledgment for the 
many most pleasant visits at his house in upper Gower 



132 JOtlKNAL. 

Street. A lady with whom I was driving, begged me to go 
there to see the Nineveh sculptures. So I pulled the check 
string, and told the coachman to go to the Museum. I had 
been there before. I had wandered about in the vast library, 
among manuscripts of the deepest interest, among specimens 
of art, rare, and of the highest value. I had seen the Townley 
marbles, and thanked him who with entire forgetfulness of 
an early wrong, had placed these treasures there. I had much 
in my mind of that long ago visit, and was not unwilling 
to renew, not the " unutterable grief," but a real pleasure. 
A lady was with me, and she wished much to see the " ele- 
phant." So we were in due time set down, and entered the 
Museum yard. It looked to me altered somewhat. The 
railings were gilded a little. The pavement and steps, were 
unswept. There was a great crowd about the building. It 
was not a holiday. We entered and looked around for 
guidance. A hand on a board pointed, as the writing said, 
to the Ninevites. But exactly to what direction the index 
finger pointed, we could not tell. Another board, however, 
had an inscription, and we hastened to learn what it said. 
" Do not touch the walls," was its word. The information 
was not relative. I said to my companion, I wondered the 
directors had not added, "or the steps; " we were just on a 
flight. This provoked a smile, then a good laugh, and on 
we went. " What does that mean above the door?" said 
my fair companion. It was Mammalia in large letters. Said I, 
" it means animals which suckle their young." " Then do," 
said the lady, " let us see them." The first thing we encoun- 
tered was the hippopotamus. " What," cried the lady, " is 
this horrid thing. I am sure no young would come near 
that." I told her the name, adding that it was derived 
from two Greek words, " Hippos, a river, and Potamos, a 
horse,'' according to the questionless etymologies of a cara- 
van interpreter. We visited the department, or apartments, 
which are filled with the gigantic and monstrous, in every 
sense of the word, — the collections from Nineveh, — not 



JOURNAL. 133 

pronounced 'N'mevah, remember, — and what works are 
they ? They look like sculptured rocks, I had almost said 
mountains, — mass of stone piled upon mass, reaching the 
utmost limit in height of the rooms of their accommodation. 
I have seen engravings of the subterranean and other old 
temple architecture of India, and beg you to read Sir James 
Mackintosh's Journal of his visit to those sacred spots, — 
and know to what limitless extravagance of size the early 
mind, in art, declared itself. But there in the Museum I was 
in the presence of that mind, of that art, and for a time 
breathed three thousand years ago, — and for the moment 
gave myself to that ancient power. I confess, though, it was 
but for a moment. What with the mammalia, the bugs, the 
birds, &c., we in due time became so mirthful that we felt 
that it was due to so much stiJl life to withdraw, venturing 
before we went, to ask of a quiet, serious looking visitor to 
the Museum what the people who were sitting or standing 
about everywhere, occasionally walking — what all these 
people came there for ? " To eat their lunches," said he. 
The truth was here revealed. I had inquired for library, 
collections in art, science, &c., but was told these were all 
kept locked up, and admission to them was utterly denied, 
unless by an order, which it was not convenient for me to 
hunt for. We saw through the matter at once. Nineveh 
and Egypt were clear humbugs. The British Museum was 
a " place to lunch." We entered our clarence and drove to 
Gunter's. So much for curiosity. 

But here we were in Berlin ; in the capital of a small, 
but at the same time, a great state. And here was an invi- 
tation to visit the Palace. I choose to be particular, for 
Berlin rejoices in palaces. When shown the building, its 
outside, you think for a moment that you have lost your 
way, and left the palace behind, or that you have not yet 
reached it. You as little think you are before a royal resi- 
dence, as when you look upon a very long, brick, rope- walk 
looking pile in Pall Mall, London, just opposite one end of 
12 



134 JOIIKNAL. 

St. James' Street, called St. James's Palace. We were, how- 
ever, told that all was right, and that we might *' go ahead." 
Whence the question ? We saw before us a monstrous 
building, only about a hundred years old, but looking just 
about six thousand, the world's age, according to the Mosaic 
reckoning. It was bleak, mouldy, broken, cracked. First 
brick, then composition. They made a poor copartnership, 
which was at length dissolved ; and I can assure you the 
assets were miserable enough ; are, for there they were 
displayed before us. We entered, and soon began to ascend 
a very broad stair-case. The ascents were two, one on 
each side, ending in a common landing. The one we walked 
up was after the usual manner of stairs. The other was laid 
in brick, quite roughly, and suggested the idea that it might 
have been used as a road, namely : that the company, if they 
chose, might go up stairs and make a call on horseback. I 
merely state a suggestion of a lady of the party. We at 
length reached the entrance room of the royal residence-. 
We got here the height of the rooms, and we see at a mo- 
ment, how vast this is. In some cases, it looks out of pro- 
portion high, compared to other rooms. For instance, the 
dining-room is of immense length, but quite narrow, so 
that it must be impossible to hear from one end of it to the 
other. The vast height in such a rapid and long perspective, 
serves to render it apparently more narrow than it really is. 
However seemingly neglected be the outside of the Palace, 
the order of the inside is perfect. First, of the floors. 
These are exquisite in their kind. They are of oak, laid in 
squares, about a foot in size, and fitted to each other by 
joints, which are exquisitely true. They are kept polished 
so perfectly, so uniformly covered are they, that it would 
seem that the whole finish had been done at the same mo- 
ment. I do not know how to describe the effect of these 
floors. In the material, the finish, and the polish, they are 
absolutely perfect. Then to leave that on which you tread, 
how gorgeous is all that which in slow succession comes 



• I 



JOURNAL. 135 

before you. At the threshold of the first room, you are 
introduced in a corner to a large number of over-shoeSy made 
of immensely thick woollen something, and of the greatest 
softness and smoothness, especially the soles. You thrust 
your boots into these, and go not scraping along, for it is to 
prevent this mode of progression that the guide emphatically 
commends you to these most solemn gray moccasins ; but 
sliding in the most approved manner, adding to the intense 
polish by every glide or plunge forward. It was a caution to 
see some of the locomotion of our party. Noiseless we went. 
The walls are hung with pictures, it seems to me, of less 
artistic than historical interest. I saw one which I thought 
worthy. One vras worthy its palatial setting. It probably 
owed more of its interest with me to its moral than to its 
artistic character. It is a full length of Louisa, a princess 
of Mecklenburg, and wife of the reigning Prince of Prussia 
when Bonaparte conquered Prussia, and which Queen, Bon- 
aparte, as I \v3,s told, treated harshly. I think I never saw a 
more beautiful, a more noble, a more commanding person. 
The painting you pronounce perfect, which is such a revelation 
of such a spirit. She stands in the assurance of her nobility, 
and that its patent is from heaven. She has in her perfect 
loveliness, the safe conduct of her sex, and of her regal train. 
If she stood before her conqueror as she stands there, in 
that palace room, he must have parted with his manhood, 
before he could have treated her with insult. I am not here 
talking of art, — of a picture, — of a human work. I am 
trying to say what a sublime revelation of a beautiful and 
noble truth did for me in this far off land, and appeal from 
myself, my own, to the inspiration of him who placed that 
being there. I only wish you could have been at my side 
and have told me how much you loved that vision. Every 
one with me was moved, deeply moved ; and you would 
have felt the power which could reach such and so many, 
and have felt " paid " for the rough and tumble of that 
experience, of those experiences, which had placed you 
within its influence. 



136 JOUKNAL. 

I do not mean to annoy you with hand-book tracings of 
a palace. No, I will not even descant on the gorgeous 
White Hall, or saloon. Endless splendour is before you. 
Room after room full, overflowing with gold, silver, prec- 
ious stones, and with what can be made of them. They 
are arranged for effect, and are certainly successful in what 
is attempted by them. You will understand the intrinsic 
value, as well as that which art has done to add to that, 
when I name the sources of some of this regal splendour. 
It consists of a vast accumulation of royal gifts to the court 
or crown of Prussia. Nations, kings, municipalities, have 
vied with each other in present making on occasions of 
royal accessions to thrones, marriages, births, &c. All oc- 
casions have been used to testify respect, to do honour, and 
the whole product is before you in this rough old palace. 
Such giftS are kept with the greatest care ; they are the 
property of the state, and so are transmitted to coming time. 
The number and variety which may have troubled you be- 
fore, or excited surprise, cease so to affect you, the moment 
we trace these things to their sources. They are just in 
their true place, and came there in the most natural, legiti- 
mate way. (Let me welcome the flute again as I write. It 
is of exquisite softness, and if 1 dared say so, skill. 1 love 
to hear it.) 

We passed along with mice-like foot-fall, if such can be 
called foot-fall. We went the whole round of the Palace. 
Somebody paid the guide a shilling for his trouble, and we 
parted to meet no more. I had arranged vrith the same 
party to go to Pottsdam, to see Sans Souci, the summer 
residence of the King ; but he and Baron Humboldt are both 
absent, at Breslau, so I have given up that visit, and it is 
rather a relief than otherwise, for I weary somewhat of these 
things. Grieved am I not to have seen Humboldt, the man 
of his age ; who has given mind and heart to matters of the 
deepest interest and worth the best success. He is eighty- 
four, but Mrs. Fay told me, is full of life, of gayety, of true 



JOURNAL. 137 

spirit. I almost wish I had given a week to him. But I 
have not a minute to spare, and must go this moment to 
finish my packing for Stettin (the last syllable long) for the 
Baltic Steamer for Russia. 

Stettin, 4 P.M. — Left Berlin at eleven. I had not 
finished my report of yesterday when I left the Palace. I 
went with my party to see a private collection of pictures. 
It was Dusseldorf, in its fullest perfection. There were the 
very Wine Tasters, of which we saw a copy or duplicate in 
Boston ; and 1 have no doubt I should have seen many old 
acquaintances, had I continued long in the room. But this 
style does not please me. The pictures are copies, perfect 
copies, if you will, of nature. Now nature never copies 
itself ; most lamentably dull would it be, if time only re- 
produced itself. It does no such thing, but in infinite vari- 
ety, with infinite modifications, but always truly does nature 
come and pass before us. A painter is not a creator ; a 
poet, a true artist, who copies anything. Nature is before 
him, and in presenting nature to us, he does so,- not as his 
eyes saw it, but as the mind has used that which the eye 
has offered him for love, and for study. Nature nrjst be 
idealized, v>'hen(j\ er she is to be presented to me by another 
mind. We want effects, not mechanical ones, such as mere 
colour presents or represents, but, if you please, spiritual ones, 
such as have had birth in the artist's mind. He will pre- 
sent these, or thoughts, for such they are, by an infinite 
variety of means or coloar ; but under all sorts of combina- 
tions. He will clothe them in, or with an atmosphere, so 
that he will make you feel that you are seeing his work as you 
do nature's, through a medium v.'hich he has provided for his 
work, just as true as that which nature has about hers. No 
matter what a painter does, he always presents ideas. Per- 
spective is nothing more nor less than the idealizing of dis- 
tance under the laws of optics ; for nature is as true in acting 
through or by us, as when acting directly, or so to speak, by 
12* 



138 JOURNAL. 

itself. Objects approximate to each as they recede from us, 
until at length the avenue or the street seems to end. "We 
know that it does not, and we know the whole philosophy of 
the phenomenon. The painter is doing precisely the same 
thing, and we know that his street no more ends than does 
that which he has idealized. Now to my mind, the Dussel- 
dorf school fails just where failure is sure whenever we at- 
tempt to copy nature ; yes faithfully to follow nature, or rather 
copy it. I remember an anecdote, full of illustration, of this 
obscure matter. Mr. Stuart, — Gilbert Stuart, our own Stu- 
art, and the portrait painter of his time, and who will live in 
his works forever, — Stuart had finished a portrait of a mili- 
tary man in uniform. A friend came in, and was much pleased 
with the work. He went up to the picture and exclaimed, 
" Why, Mr. S., you have painted the epaulettes with red 
and other colours." " Stand here," said S. ; " what do 
they look like now?" "Just like gold," was the reply. 
" Very well," said Stuart, " be satisfied with my effects, 
and never criticize the details of my pencil." 

The Dusseldorf school copies, imitates nature. Every 
thing stands out with a wholly unnatural clearness ; I had 
almost said, audacious accuracy. The thought is lost in 
the paint, instead of the paint being lost in the thought. 
Gold cannot be painted except by yellow. Stuart's nature was 
perfect with a combination of red with the yellow. The 
harmony in his union of the two was entire, and the alchemy 
was complete, — the epaulettes were turned into gold ! 

The Dusseldorf school wants atmosphere. It wants 
medium. You always have the tiling itself. Now in pic- 
tures, as in other modes of expressing thought, the sugges- 
tion is sometimes better than the thing. A nudity is not 
always the most naked thing in the world. The story is 
sometimes the best told, which is only half told. The 
Dusseldorf school always strikes twehe, and has no more to 
say. You see the brush and the palette. You see not the 
mind, the soul of the painter. You are satisfied with the 



JOURNAL. 139 

first moutliful. You have no room for more. A second 
visit would be more than a waste of time. 

But here am I, just arrived in this old town of Stettin, 
and in the Hotel de Prussie, have done nothing else, but 
out with portfolio and write up my journal. I am on the 
furthest point of Prussia, have taken my passage for St. 
Petersburg, and shall leave at one to-morrow, p. m., for that 
city. I have travelled from Liverpool to Stettin, and always 
in the second class carriages. And most excellent on the 
continent have I found them. 

Next for company. I have always found it very respect- 
able. The people quiet and well behaved. I once got into 
a smoking coupe, but, as I smoked with the rest, this to 
me was no annoyance. If you would not be annoyed by 
your onion-eating neighbours, after dinner, follow his exam- 
ple and eat them yourself. We are told this never fails. 
I saw life in its various phases. To-day there was a party 
which a good deal interested me. A family was leaving 
home, and a son, who was one of them, was to be left 
behind. He was sixteen or seventeen, and sat with his 
mother till the conductor appeared to shut the door. The 
door is always left open till near the time of starting. As 
soon as he appeared the young man kissed his mother again 
and again, — he rose holding her hand, and now kissed 
that. The door was shut, but the train did not move. He 
stood at the open window labouring to suppress his tears. 
His mother did not succeed with her attempts at the same. 
Just as the whistle was heard, he again took her hand, 
kissed it again and again, and rushed away. The dress and 
manner of the party showed them to be very respectable 
people. It was some time before those who remained began 
to talk. This kissing in Germany is national. One day, 
Sunday last, I saw it to perfection, for men, young and old, 
were the kissers, and I saw the process in two parties of 
three each, one a very old man. I never saw more earnest 
salutations. They happened to be between friends who 



140 JOUKNAL. 

were expecting to meet each other, and was an expression 
of apparently the sincerest welcome. So much for kissing. 
Stettin is a fortified city, and of course is full of soldiers. 
I have met them in every place since I left the steamer in 
Liverpool. In Prussia they are more numerous than in any 
other nation, as far as my observation has gone. 1 was 
desirous to learn what was their position. Their discipline 
is as strict as military service can well be. They serve a 
number of years, differing in different states. They are 
paid from three half pennies to two pennies a day. In war 
they are paid more. They get their clothes, their arms and 
shelter, and bread and water. But as for meat, vegetables, 
cigars, their principal food, and luxuries, they must pur- 
chase with their pay. I am struck with the youthful 
appearance of these troops, and with the numbers who were 
slightly formed and under-sized. They seem very healthy, 
and the regularity of their exercise in daily drill, and other 
physical employments, together with the regularity of their 
whole discipline, diet, and habits, sufficiently explained their 
very healthful appearance. I learned that punishment in 
this service is not flogging, but temporary imprisonment, 
and bread and water for food. There is one thing to be 
especially noted in the Prussian service, — and I know not 
but it prevails elsewhere. Sir Francis Head gives *a very 
minute account of what I am to state, as existing in the 
preparatory discipline in France. I refer to the subject of 
education. In Prussia, and in Germany generally, the same 
system prevails. Education is provided for every citizen, — 
nay, is compulsory. For truancy the parent is responsible, 
not the child ; and is fined, or punished in some other way 
for the child's delinquency. The young must attend the 
gymnasium. I think it very likely to be the case, that 
intellectual habits and exercises may do much to produce 
the healthful and contented condition of the military, where- 
ever the system is truly carried out. I speak particularly 
of the military. And I do so because this embraces so large 



JOURNAL. 141 

a proportion of the actively employed population of Eu- 
ropean states. It would almost seem tliat every fifth man 
you see is a soldier. The estimate is easily made, for this 
portion of the people is at once recognized, as they are 
always in uniform. I see here no police, that is, an order 
distinguished from the military. I have said so before. 
They may be everywhere, but I nowhere see them as we do 
in England, in France, and in America. But the peace of 
these cities is most remarkable. Berlin, which contains 
between four and five hundred thousand inhabitants, is as 
quiet as a country village, What is the relation of the 
military to this municipal repose I am not able to say. 
Early in a delicious morning, I started with my courier to 
see the fortifications of this strongly defended city. In our 
rambles we came to a sentry station, and seeing the guard 
at rest, we, or rather Charles, spoke to him. The early 
hour, and the solitary place of guard, favoured our object. 
We gathered from him some of the facts just related, 
regarding pay, education, service, discipline, &c., in the 
Prussian service. He was quite young for his position, cer- 
tainly not over eighteen, and of excellent face, expression, 
and address ; and withal had evidently made good use of 
his excellent Prussian education. I was very much pleased 
with this conversation. It was receiving at first hands, 
just such an account of matters of real interest, as ordi- 
narily come from more or less questionable sources. The 
frankness of our young soldier was to me a sufiicient gua- 
rantee of the correctness and reliability of his communica- 
tions. After giving us directions to points of much interest 
in the vast works which surrounded us, we took our leave 
of this intelligent, pleasing young man. 

I have been much impressed with the evidence of the 
perpetuity of things abroad. By which I mean to say that 
a system which works well remains here unchanged, and 
seems unchangeable. The houses seem to have been built 
all at once, and to have undergone no change. There 



142 JOURNAL. 

is an endless repetition of the like or the same. One tells 
the story of all. So of governments, and those who ad- 
minister them. These remain as they were. Religion and 
educational systems have the same character of permanence. 
National physiognomy, habits, modes of living, dress, repeat 
the story. My mind, in view of these facts, was irresistibly 
carried back to America, and the contrast between all which 
makes it what it is, and all which was before me, was too 
strong not to arrest attention. Change there is on every 
hand, and reaches to every interest, as if this agency neces- 
sarily resulted in improvement, — individual and national 
advantage. 

But if improvement come not of change, excitement does, 
and in this may be found the principal food of the Am.erican 
mind, as an active power. On the continent of Europe per- 
manence of institutions, and of modes of thought, are the 
necessary consequence of the long established, and which is 
known by thinking men to have worked well, — has pre- 
served public peace, and order, and national prosperity. 
The simple fact that an institution has been, and for a long 
time, comes to be a reason and cause of its continuance. So 
to speak, it continues itself. With us the institution, the 
form of government continues, but the mode of its applica- 
tion, and especially the agents by which it is carried on, are 
perpetually undergoing change. The public mind is thus 
kept in a constant state of fret, — of unrest, — states not 
always favourable for the highest or best intellectual activ- 
ity. The new, or change, comes to be an object of paramount 
interest, and the country feels it from one end of it to the 
other. The government is elective. The president is 
chosen for four years, — the representative house for two 
years, — the senate for six. Every new election, or the suc- 
cession of a party different from the latest incumbent, will 
throw out of office everybody belonging to it, and bring in 
an entirely new set. The offices in the gift of the govern- 
ment are, it is said, near forty thousand. Look at this simple 



JOURNAL. 143 

fact in tliis nation's history, and gather from it its whole 
lesson. Those forty thousand have families. They got the 
places because they wanted the bread. They may make 
money in place, but this it is said must come of contingen- 
cies. Salary men never lay up their salaries. " At one fell 
swoop" they are turned out by the new president, and most 
wretched must be the condition of many. I remember well 
an instance. A man with a family, who had received a 
large salary, but who spent it, and was displaced, was at 
once reduced to extreme poverty. So great was his need, 
and so uunbroken his spirit, that his destitution was dis- 
covered, — for he would not reveal it, — and the means of 
preserving life were at once supplied. Change and excite- 
ment cost something in America. In England, a ministry 
goes out when it fails to command a majority in the Com- 
mons. But every other agent in the government, from the 
most responsible to the lowest clerk, retains his place. 
Nay more, the faithful officer in his age is still aided by the 
government. Place is held during good behaviour. The 
motive for honourable and honest conduct. The government 
is secure from peculation, and what is quite as important, 
the incumbent has the strongest motive for good behaviour. 
Give a man an office for four years, an office which involves 
important money transactions, and let him calculate wisely 
the chances, in a system of change, of a continuance in 
office beyond the time for which he has been elected, and is 
it a too violent inference, that the temptation for poor human 
nature, as it is called by those who abuse it, to improve its 
condition, or provide for the future, may be too strong to be 
resisted ? In a country of such vast extent, such boundless 
resources, such variety of climate, and the products of such 
variety every where at hand, — the soil of which in more than 
one region is like 

" Heaven's pavement, trodden gold" — 

in such a country, men can be found who will stake the 
support of families as well as their own on the uncertain 



144 JOTJENAL. 

tenure of the continuance of a party in power, — more 
especially at this moment when the country is flooded with 
parties, yes, covered with overlapping political platforms. 
Said one, and a thinker too, " It is surprising to me that 
any considerate, tolerably respectable man, v/ill take the 
office of the President of the United States." 

We have been told abroad, and it is said at home, that 
America can never have its best man at its head. And 
again we hear that the less a man is known, the better 
his chance for the Presidency. The present Pontiff, Pio 
Nono, translated singularly, by a leading orthodox clergyman 
and scholar amongst us, was scrutineer for the cardinals at 
their last choice of Pope. He was surprised on counting 
the ballots to find that he had been collecting votes for 
himself, for they were all for him. It has been thought 
that a somewhat similar surprise may have been felt among 
those who have been somewhat recently made candidates by 
conventions, and elected presidents — their nomination 
being pronounced by authority, or felt to be, " not fit to have 
been made." 

Change, violent and sudden, fills the intercallary of presi- 
dential elections. National excitement and turmoil are 
abundantly provided for, and improved by the election of 
over thirty governors, lieutenant governors, houses of legis- 
lature, and infinite state and municipal officers. The ex- 
ecutive patronage distributed in so many ways, is not 
confined to individuals. It has, at least in one instance, 
been directed to a state. This is a slave state. I am told that 
the army, navy, and civil service of the nation were supplied 
by that state with official incumbents, permanent and fluctu- 
ating after a manner and to a degree which exceeded every 
other, and more than any state in the Union. The resources 
of that state were mainly in the public chest. In process of 
time, its soil was exhausted. Its land fell to the lowest 
price. The executive patronage was in an important sense 
withdrawn, and now its principal support is in the breeding 



JOURNAL. 



145 



and selling of slaves. In one part of this state free labour 
is more or less employed, and its comparative prosperity 
shows how wise has been the substitution. 

The remedy for such and so serious evils is at hand. 
Let the tenure of office be good behaviour. Take from the 
executive its disastrous patronage, which is a nuisance to 
the nation, and of most demoralizing tendency to the peo- 
ple. This is all that is necessary to give dignity to public 
office, and make it acceptable to the best men of the nation. 
Party power — spirit — tyranny, would lose their hold on the 
public mind, and public want ; and the honour of the country 
would replace the present struggle for place and for bread. 
There would be peace in the land, and the present morbid 
demand for excitement, and for any change which will fur- 
nish it in the largest amount, would gradually cease to be the 
thing most prized by the public. A vast accession would be 
made to the respectable and productive industry of the 
whole state, and men's minds come in for a share of that 
culture and care, which is now wasted upon a precarious 
external life. 

Now, how is it with the people abroad ? Few things 
more interest the stranger than the people. The houses 
are theirs ; modes of living too. How does this people 
look ? " Alike as two peas, especially Pomp," as said one 
to another, when he would trace the resemblance between 
two coloured boys, who looked very much alike. I every 
day remark how much people here look alike. They are 
not a large race. Their features are repetitions of one type. 
The face is short, as if compressed from above downwards. 
The nose is very small. I have scarcely seen a really com- 
manding nose. Cheek bones high. The eyes small, blue, 
and distant from each other. The lips look thin, as if 
drawn tightly over the teeth. Complexion is accidental, 
depending on place and occupation. Women in the country 
suffer most, — the field labourers, — and the skin answers 
to the exposure. Female city servants fare better. With all 
13 



146 JOUENAL. 

their out-door exposure, they never get the complexion, or 
the expression of the female field workers. On the con- 
trary, they are perfectly neat in their appearance, and im- 
press you with the belief, that whatever the service, it 
contributes to health, and to good looks. I have met with 
very few old people in my wanderings. What these people 
do when age comes, I know not. Perhaps they all die. 
Whether or no, I have not seen them. It may be asked, 
why do women, and girls, and children, do so much of the 
field, or out-door work ? In the first place, the labour is not 
very severe. It may be weeding or cleaning flax, or sugar 
beet fields. This requires constant stooping. You see six 
or eight in a row, the fields are narrow, and they keep in a 
line, and take up everything like a weed, and give the field 
the appearance of entire neatness. This is done when the 
flax is young. Other tillage requiring a like process, has 
it. Women cut turf. This is a large business. Monstrous 
boat loads of it reach Berlin, and pass beyond for a market. 
Women are sometimes engaged in brick yards. I have seen 
them quite as industrious, and as dirty, or as clayey, as are 
the men. Women also make hay, bind wheat, load carts. 
Women are porters ; you see them with luggage in hand, or 
on head, or on shoulder, following the traveller from his 
hotel. I saw women sometimes engaged on the railways. 
They stand at crossings of roads, and elsewhere, and flourish 
the little flag staff" as gracefully as do the men. In Prussia, 
men in an uniform stand on the watch on the roads. I do 
not recollect seeing a woman. In cities women work, and 
sometimes work hard too. Opposite to my window in 
Louise Street, Stettin, is a street pump. It is in its casing 
about twelve feet high. The pump handle is full eight feet 
long. It is a double pump, with a handle on opposite sides. 
It is not open towards the sidewalk for buckets. The pump 
noses here project through the casing; the front side towards 
the street is closed. Here the process of pumping water is 
perpetual. You can understand how heavy a body such 



JOURNAL. 147 

a pump handle of iron, with its monstrous rounded end, 
exactly resembling the larger cannon shot, must be. I have 
counted twelve strokes as the smallest number to fill a 
bucket, which seems nearlj^ twice as large as ours. I have 
seen a man make as many as twenty-one before a bucket 
was filled. They ordinarily carry two by means of a yoke 
which rests upon their shoulders. Now a great deal of this 
work is done by women. I have not counted the amount 
of their labour. Boys are sometimes at the pump, but they 
are frequently helped by bystanders waiting their turn. 
Madame de Genlis says, the fine erect forms of the Italian 
peasant women, is owing to their pumping water at tall 
pumps, and carrying the buckets of water on their head for 
domestic uses, or for irrigation. But my German female 
neighbours do not always help their persons by the pump- 
ing process. This may be owing to the yoke which rather 
depresses than raises the form ; though when the load be 
not too heavy, it will serve to strengthen the muscles of the 
back, and so keep the spine in a natural, and so graceful 
position. I speak of persons and things, women, men, 
children and pumps, just as they are, or as they seem to be. 
But where are the men ? You rarely see them. The 
women are ever in presence. The men are in the army. 
They are soldiers for a certain number of years, and then 
they serve as they may be needed. I know of no explanation 
of the fact that the field service is so much in the hands of 
the women, unless it be that the men are in the army. I 
know of no other service which can occupy the men of so 
laro-e a state. The marine, civil or naval, cannot be of much 
amount. 1 never heard of a Prussian fleet, and the sea- 
ports, or rather port, would hardly seem to off*er employment 
for many men. You say an enlistment for three years will 
soon expire, and the soldier at once return to civil life. 
But this is not found to be the case. The three years' ser- 
vice has formed a character and habits which will suit in no 
other mode of life. It is now too late to enter a trade, a 



148 JOTJENAL. 

meclaanic business, and field work only remains. The army 
will be preferred, and bence is it true that " once a soldier, 
always a soldier." The industrious farmer works in our 
short spring and summer. In the winter he takes care 
of stock and tools, gets in fuel, and prepares for the next 
season of planting, growth, and harvest. 

Women not only do the real work of life in Europe, they 
do it in America, and everywhere. The exception is not in 
savage life. Civilization and savagery alike impose the work 
on women. They work for men in their natural childhood, 
and for the most part in that worser imbecility which often 
attends on manhood. " A woman's work is never done," 
says the adage, which, like all others, has its source in some 
established truth, and for the most part truth of experience. 
We have seen women at work on the continent. We may 
see the same everywhere in England. The harvest makes 
them field labourers, and as hard workers as elsewhere. In 
America women do the work which pertains to living, — its 
comforts, and its luxuries, — its daily necessities, — its weak- 
nesses, — its sorrows. Some one says, a part of the pro- 
ductive labour of America is done by slaves. Is not the work 
of the free state man intellectually, speech-making, — conven- 
tion-talking, — his hands being mainly used in applauding, 
clapping speakers, and putting votes in ballot-boxes ? The 
women do the work, which is work. They make the 
nation's wardrobe. " Stitch, stitch, stitch." Women do 
an important part of the work in making of shoes. Thou- 
sands and thousands are daily employed in this way. Cigar 
making, which forms literally so much of the hand- work of 
this age, is done by women in America. It were worth while 
to learn what is the eff'ect upon health of such an atmosphere 
as the young women are obliged to breathe in this employ- 
ment, and the steeping of fingers and hands in the moist 
leaf of this poisonous plant. Then again, the in-door busi- 
ness of the farm, who does it but women ? The cotton and 
other mills are crowded, — populous with women. Thou- 



JOURNAL. 149 

sands, if not millions, of young women are the operatives in 
these vast establishments. They live in rooms necessarily 
imperfectly ventilated, for the fresh and pure air disturbs the 
processes which occupy them, — the minutes for relaxation 
daring the whole day are for eating, and in walking to the 
corporations, — the evenings are passed in them for rest, — 
not for rest from actual employment, — but for that heavier 
fatigue which comes of almost motionless activity in the 
tending of looms, or like work. Women do the work of 
the world. What in time of peace is the work of the 
soldiers who make up the standing armies of Europe, and 
who throw so much active employment upon women? 
They are the veriest idlers in the world. Nati consumere 
fruges, they produce nothing ; they are the wasters of the 
industry of nations. Nothing has been said of the recom- 
pense of woman's work. It is almost too small to be men- 
tioned. Compared with the service, it is no recompense at 
all. In America, in many of its departments, wages hardly 
"keep base life afoot." Not many years ago an effort was 
made by seamstresses, slop-workers, or women who work 
for tailors, for wholesale, to have their wages increased. 
They held meetings, — large, and many meetings, and gave 
a full history of their toil, and of their sufferings. Some 
men met with them. My profession had made me ac- 
quainted with many of these hard-worked, beggarly paid 
women. I saw them in sickness, their own or their fami- 
lies, — I knew how they lived, — if that could be called 
living, which kept little else than suffering alive. Their 
nights as well as days were devoted to toil. In the hot 
summer time they were making heavy clothing of the 
coarsest kind for the winter market, and you saw sickness 
and debility employed in this service which left too little 
strength to drive the needle through such materials, The 
meetings were crowded with the sufferers. One might have 
supposed that women of wealth, of position, — whose in- 
terest in such an effort must have much aided it, — who by 
13* 



150 JOIJENAL. 

their presence and advice would have cheered on these 
overtasked sisters in their toil, and by sympathy, have 
made their lot and life less hard, would have been there. 
But I do not remember seeing any such. Some men 
attended these meetings. On account of the interest which 
was taken by me in them, some of the employers of these 
women desired an interview with me ; and one was appointed 
at my house. They came. Some surprise was expressed at 
the interest I had taken in the affairs of the women they 
employed and supported, and my views were asked for. I 
stated them freely and fully, with a view to show how de- 
structive was so much toil, and such small recompense, to 
the health and comfort of the thousands they employed. 

Said one, " Sir, you do not know how much employment 
we give to these poor women, or how much we pay them. 
Why, Sir, in our establishment are employed one thousand 
women, and every Saturday evening we pay them seven 
hundred dollars." "That is," said I, "seventy cents a 
a week, -r- thirty cents less than a dollar for six days and 
nights' work, — solid work ; and for what is this seventy 
cents used ? For rent, food, clothing, fuel. A family may 
have to be supported upon this income." Said he, "We 
pay full eight hundred dollars a week to them." " That," 
said I, " makes eighty cents a week for each. The difference 
is hardly worth mentioning." Said I to a government con- 
tractor for army and navy clothing, " Sir, suppose the 
government has a contract worth ten thousand dollars, — 
literally worth this amount, in material and labour. Sup- 
pose it is advertised, and is to be sold to the lowest bidder, 
and you get it for seven thousand dollars, who loses the 
three thousand, you or the operatives? " " The operatives," 
said he, without a moment's hesitation. "Where, Sir," 
asked he, " did you get that question? " I told him it came 
very naturally along with many others bearing upon the 
same business. Much conversation followed, and competi- 
tion was alluded to in its disturbing influences upon Indus- 



JOURNAL. 151 

try. " Why," said one, " when we fit out a whaleman for 
three or four years' voyage, so hard is competition, we throw 
in the duck-trowsers." "And how much," asked I, "do 
you pay the women for making a pair?" " Four cents," 
said he. One expressed conscientious scruples on this 
subject of women's wages, and added, that he sought for 
light by prayer. The above relates to the pay for female 
toil some years ago. I have not learned if any, or what 
changes have been made in it since. A friend of mine asked 
Mr. Daniel Webster what was the cause of poverty. Wages, 
wages, said that distinguished man. Does not the experi- 
ence of women in this regard, go somewhat to support the 
doctrine of Mr. Webster ? 

Women in Europe work steadily, and get small wages. 
But it is out-door work, — some of it the work of men, and 
a little money goes a great way. They get bread, clothing, 
shelter, and their children, public, unpaid education. And 
they get health, and are social and cheerful, and have time 
for relaxation and pleasure. But what of the lace-makers, 
and others necessarily obliged to work in-doors ? These are 
the exceptions to the rule. They are few in number, and 
owe their slavery and ultimate suffering to the stern tyranny 
of fashion and luxury, which have no regard for either eyes, 
health, or even life. Women in America work in-doors, — 
have no exercise, — their work is exhausting, because con- 
tinuous — by rule. The plank roads of the West, so level, 
smooth, nice, lame the horses, and this soon too, and merely 
for their seeming facilities for locomotion. And so does 
the motionless toil with the needle, Avithout variety, with- 
out intermission ; and so does the cotton-mill Avith its larger 
pay, but more hours of work. Women in Europe work no 
harder than women in America, looking to the amount done, 
and to the time consumed. They enjoy life more ; they 
have better health, and live longer. 

Of German cookery, I can say bat little. I have but little 
appetite, and this little has not at all affected the national 



152 JOURNAL. 

cuisine. When I say I have no appetite, I mean I am never 
hungry. I do not recollect when I have felt hunger, that 
precursory condition of stomach, Avhich demands food. I 
relish food much, excepting a few things. This want of the 
sixth sense, hunger, is very convenient in travelling. An 
early breakfast, and an evening dinner make up my foreign 
eating ; and never was I in better health. Seeing so much 
rye always in the fields, I asked if wheat was not also largely 
cultivated. No, was the reply, the people live principally 
on black bread. Black, I suppose, we should render hrovm. 
At hotels I have learned what I know of eating and cooking. 
It has a very large infusion of French in it, I am told, and 
it certainly is peculiar enough for any nomenclature. The 
original taste is almost always destroyed in vegetables ; and 
meats have no distinctive character. I described the other 
day, how successfully the taste of the early pea was destroyed 
by being stewed with carrots. A day or two after, the first 
beans appeared; chey were cooked with some aromatic 
affair, and their natural flavour was most thoroughly de- 
stroyed. The meat is equally astray. It is served in small 
dishes, either as cooked, if in small pieces, or cut up if 
large, as poultry, &c. As the dishes extend to an extraor- 
dinary number, — if you mean to eat of many, — you had 
better take but a mouthful or two from each. The servant 
will tell you the name of the delicacy ; but as he will cer- 
tainly do it in German, or in German French, the chances 
are, your knowledge from this source will be small. 

The carte may help. For the most part, however, names 
do not indicate the things. I sometimes met with attempts 
to reach the English mind. Thus we had plump pudding, — 
reis pudding. Sago could not be anything else, and stood 
out just as it is. Eis cream. No ice. Generally a pretty 
warm and oldish water. A sort of "remainder biscuit." 
Why not ice? Answer, "it is not yet come." I suppose 
not yet frozen. In London I found the same want of ice 
at the hotel, and certainly a "first class one." I was the 



JOURIfAL. 153 

more surprised at this want there, because I saw often, often, 
in the streets, wagons with Wenham Lake Ice upon them, 
in golden letters on a blue ground, and never at home have 
I seen finer specimens of the article itself. The account 
of the German hotel table is not from that of this large 
hotel in Stettin. This was altogether the worst place of the 
kind in which it was my misfortune to find a temporary- 
home. 

The Baltic. — June 18, Saturday, left Stettin for St. 
Petersburg, five minutes to 1, p. m., in the Preussiche 
Adler — or Prussian Eagle, the Eagle being the crest of 
the arms of Prussia. We left her on Tuesday morning fol- 
lowing, at about eight, a. m. This voyage has been an 
event in my nautical life. I suffered everything, as they 
say, in the Atlantic steamer. Sick was I for days ; and 
when well for a day or two, would be driven, by extremity 
of sickness, from the whist, or other table, spreading con- 
sternation, and " other things," in all directions. But in 
this swift Eagle, with the ordinarily rough and rude, but 
now perfectly calm and gentle Baltic around me, on I went, 
in perfect health, among the merriest of the crew, not 
omitting a single meal. The weather was cool, but bright, 
and glorious. We walked, we talked, we eat. Twelve 
and thirteen miles an hour. The steamer a cradle for 
smoothness of motion, and a perfect nightingale in her sea 
song. I have had a noble time. I met with, to me, a most 
welcome companion. A lover of Shakespeare ; and at twenty 
more deeply steeped in him, and in his spirit, than many 
older ever are. He has studied Schlegel's translations of 
the plays, and has seen them played, and surprised me with 
the eff'ects of language, as they are rendered in German. 
He said that the most idiomatic passages of Shakespeare 
seemed to him to gain, certainly not to lose, in their Ger- 
man dress. He quotes from Shakespeare admirably, and 
his reading is accurate. He was my constant companion, — 



154 JOURNAL. 

the only one who spoke English, his mother tongue, on 
board, and who was Avilling to use it, on my account, 
though knowing the German perfectly, and with a crowd of 
Germans to talk with. You must let me tell you who is 
Mr. B. He is the only son of Major Brown, to whom 

Major S gave me letters. Mrs. B and her son 

called on me just now. They pass the summer in the 
country, and we only arrived in town to-day. Was not 

this kind to call so early? and Mrs. B is so pleasant. 

She sat in the carriage, and talked to me as if we had 
known each other for years. I could not help telling her 
just what I thought of her son, and said she, "He is a good 
boy." I said he was, from my very heart. I have rarely 
met with a person who has so attracted me, and altogether 
by his excellent sense, and excellent knowledge. I pro- 
mised to go to see Mrs. B , and she said she should 

come to see me again. Our steamer company, with the 
exception of the above Mr. B., was apparently all German. 
I say apparently, for there was one at least, I am sure there 
were two, who were English, but were so much ashamed of 
that wretched language, their vernacular, that they would 
only speak in such German and French as they could on 
the spur of the moment command. One of them is attached 
to the English legation in St. Petersburg, and his trunk 
told his name, and a person at table told the rest."^ But 
our Germans beat all. I never heard such Babelistic utter- 
ances. They seemed to have a mixture of various lan- 
guages, and in various proportions. But the want of 
quantity of each was not thought of in the richness of its 
quality. I sometimes wished you, dear M., of our party, for 
such strange tones you could not have resisted. They ex- 
ploded most from a titled person, a Graffe — a Count. I 
asked Mr. B. for an explanation of this gentleman's most 

* I see a person of the same name was secretary to the latest Eng- 
lish legation at Washington. He remains there. August, 1856. 



JOURNAL. 155 

strange language, and which has an accompaniment of all 
sorts of facial distortions, — face-makings. They looked to 
me all the world as if they were manufactured for effect, — 
for fun. "My dear Sir," said Mr. B., "he stutters badly." 
Think of German stutter! His rank, however, could not 
alter the effect upon me, and upon others, for it was a 
strange composition beyond imagination and imitation, and 
yet having something which attracted you, notwithstanding 
its very strange accompaniments.* We had, upon the whole, 
an excellent voyage, and j'^ou may suppose some of its 
attractions from what I have already said. There was one 
thing of perpetual interest to me, — the evenings, — for 
nights we had not. The sun went down, or somewhere, 
between eight and nine, but never so far as to forget us. 
The lingering twilight, with which nothing I have ever seen 
can be compared, was so bright, that good eyes could have 
read on to sunrise. It was a diffused light. Not resting, 
as with us, for awhile round the spot which the sun has 
just left, as if he had not taken all his light with him ; but 
as if dependent on his near presence, and therefore not to 
be lost because he had disappeared. There was another 
point in this northern sky. The latest colours left upon 
cloud and mists remained, somewhat diffused, — not circum- 
scribed, — as from a reflecting medium, — a cloud, for in- 
stance, — but as if entering into the very atmosphere itself, 
and so turning it all into beauty. The Baltic was as smooth 
as glass. It reflected all the light which came pouring 
upon it from the sky, and reflected it in its exact colours 
and splendour. There was not a dark spot visible, — no 
land, no shore, nothing save our huge black steamer bathed 
in light ; and in its striking contrast with all above, beneath, 
around it, — giving to the universal illumination a beauty, 

* The Germans have so enormous a mass of titles, that they divide 
them into titles of rank, princes, &c. &c.; of honour, grace, highnecs, 
&c. ; of offi,ce, professor, counsellor, &c. 



156 jouKisrAL. 

an intensity, to "be understood only by being seen. "Was it 
not an exceeding privilege to be in such a spot, at such, a 
time, to see and to feel so much power, so much beauty ? 
It is in its truth that nature ever comes to us, and in asking 
for our love, would fill us with a reverence, and an imitation 
of itself, — of its purity, its truth. Nature is never at 
fault. Pierce the deep cave of the lofty mountain, and 
through its thick sides, "rock-ribbed, and ancient as the 
sun," give the light, passage, and there does it dance and 
play, as freely, and as truly as in the upper, the outer air. 
How true to itself was this wide and glowing tw^ilight here 
on the Baltic, and how short was its passage from the eye 
to the heart ! Let me not be extravagant ; yet there was 
something in this all night twilight, or day, which might 
affect the imagination. I would say then that the face of 
the sky had a moral expression, — the expression of plea- 
sure, — that it was not to be lost, as elsewhere, in midnight 
darkness. You could not sleep in the midst of so much 
brightness. The perfectly gentle motion of the steamer as 
if making her way in the purest oil, — the exercise of sail- 
ing, — brought with it no fatigue ; on the contrary, your 
strength seemed to grow by rest, and you walked for hours 
without weariness. Why then sleep ? There was no de- 
mand for it, and I was almost always awake to the beauty 
of the continued day, — a day which cast no shadows, so 
uniformly diffused was the light, — a day without a sun ! 
How rejoiced should I have been to have had you both here, 
in those strange nights. I had an excellent companion in 
my Shakespeare loving friend. But I wanted something else 
and more, to take part with me in the beautiful creations so 
lavishly crowded around me, and to have had them rejoice 
in that which so moved me. I know not the secret of the 
general insensibility to so much beauty and power as that 
voyage msinifested. I can only resolve it into that intense 
selfishness which leaves us no time to see, and to love, that 
which does not directly minister to some tangible, physical 



JOURNAL. 157 

gratification. But the eye says that the light is pleasant, and 
that it is a blessed thing to behold the sun. But how? when? 
where ? There were those nights of mysterious loveliness, 
as if nature had come forth in new adornments, and in its 
fullest joy ; and how dead were we to her ministry of beauty, 
and how did we turn away from it as if it had been an im- 
pertinence, and not for blessing to all who could look upon 
it. I write a great deal, for, somehow or other, I have for a 
long time been finding myself my best company. " Great 
vanity," I hear you exclaim, and so it may be. But living 
entirely with strangers amidst strange languages ; and having 
been cautioned in this luminous north to keep a little dark, 
I am more shy than ever. So I write on, and when you 
are tired, just put the manuscript into the drawer till I 
reclaim it. Do take care of it, please. 

There was a little incident w^hich attracted me the last 
day of the Baltic voyage, which was Sunday. In the cabin 
were portraits of the King and Queen of Prussia, and oppo- 
site, the Emperor and Empress of Russia. On the day I 
speak of, the two gentlemen were taken down, and the two 
ladies reigned in the steamer by themselves. The line, the 
Baltic line, is the joint property of the two monarchs, and 
the courtesy to the queens could not but be acceptable to 
all concerned. At all events, it showed that widely ex- 
tended empire left place in the heart for courtesy and hom- 
age, and these are always grateful, however and whenever 
truly manifested. How different was the Sunday in the 
Prussian Eagle from the same day on board the British 
Atlantic line. In this last there was religious service on 
that day ; and the seamen, the crew, had put off their 
week working-day dress, and were in the saloon with 
officers and passengers, in their simple, neat uniform. The 
steamer was for the time a temple, and the simple office 
brought to mind the land, and the home, and the church, 
and for the moment you forgot that you were so far away 
from them all, as to find a relation with them only through 
14 



158 JOURNAL. 

the mind, — through, the ready agency of association, and a 
sure memory. In the Baltic steamer the Sunday was in no 
sense divided from its fellows of the week. There was 
card playing, and other amusements, as at other times ; and 
nothing marked the day but the courtesy to the royal ladies 
above-mentioned. 

Croxstadt. — Our first resting place from Stettin was 
Cronstadt. The day before we reached it, we met with a 
Russian fleet of fifteen sail, ships of the line, and others, 
on a tour of duty for the instruction of cadets in the naval 
service. The day was the clearest and brightest of the year. 
These monstrous vessels, though sailing in line, could not, 
of course, preserve constantly the same direction, and in 
their changes of position gave views of the ships themselves, 
of their sails and flags, in a thousand lights, and making a 
panorama quite worth stemming the Baltic to see. When 
we approached Cronstadt, however, that fleet was not missed. 
Ship upon ship, or ship after ship, was seen in the noble 
docks. Two-deckers and three-deckers, rigged, and without 
rigging, were seen and counted, till it almost seemed they 
would stretch to the " crack of doom." Remember, that 
I was in far-ofi" Russia. That since leaving England and 
France, I had met with no seas, no rivers, or few only, and 
destitute of shipping almost, and that here the twilight of 
the Pole had revealed to me this enormous naval power ! 
You cannot understand its effect. On the remotest verge 
of civilization, — beyond which so littl3 exists, I was in the 
midst and pressure of a monstrous power, the being of the 
highest civilization, and in time, but yesterday. I looked 
round with astonishment. The anchor had j ust been dropped. 
The last links of the chain-cable were running through the 
bow, when I reached the deck. I looked upon all I have 
alluded to. Defences of the most imposing character, which 
occupy every " coin of vantage," while battery above battery, 
in three and even more ascents are on every side. A sue- 



JOURNAL. 159 

cession of fhese, on as many islands, is in the midst of the 
channel. An enormous square stone fortress with three or 
four tiers of heavy cannon is in the naval dock-yard itself, 
and others are on all sides. The wharves and docks are 
filled with merchant vessels, and vessels are coming and 
going every hour, and from all parts. Silence, quiet, is on 
all sides. In our steamer the voice of the sailor was not 
heard. Great activity, perfect discipline, immediate and 
prompt action, with sure results, mark the people here, and 
in old Germany, as men of a perfect sense and obligation of 
duty, with the most natural, therefore easy, performance of 
it. Human effort is less noisy here than in other regions, 
as if the voice of nature had not been listened to in vain. 
Suppose the sun at rising should make a proportionate noise 
to that of a man gaping himself awake. I hardly think the 
human ear would hear the result, — day-hreak, — more than 
once. I looked over the steamer's bow and saw large boats 
around her, probably in the service of the revenue, with 
their crews, some sleeping, others sitting at ease, in every 
position which would bring the most comfort. I was struck 
with their whole appearance. They were dressed in a simple 
uniform, — each with his cap numbered, and each with an 
ample outside gray woollen wrapper, or sack reaching to the 
feet, showing that a part of their duty might be performed 
in the night. They were tall, large, very well made, and well 
nourished men. They differed from the German people, with 
whom I have lately sojourned, in many respects. Their 
skins were similar, but their faces and bodies were fuller, 
and showed that they had been cared for, or had taken care 
of themselves. I saw a great many men, and found them 
all to show remarkably fine physical qualities with great quiet 
of manner, as if it might be a waste of power to be gigantic 
where giantism was not in demand. After a time the cere- 
monials of entering a new state in a somewhat novel world, 
were all faithfully gone through with, and we were permitted 
to leave the Eagle, which was too large to float in the Neva, 



160 JOTJENAL. 

and to enter a smaller steamer, and to proceed on our passage 
to St. Petersburg. I asked the distance. Four miles, I think, 
was the answer. After sailing twice that distance, I asked 
again, and learned that four miles here were twenty or more 
English of the name. These miles were at last fulfilled, 
and we came to the wharf or the English Quay, so called. 
I was somewhat troubled about my luggage, for I had taken 
despatches without a Courier's pass. But as the business 
fell to Charles, I was in no great trouble, and was the 
first of that steamer's company who that day touched the 
Russian soil. Miss Benson's boarding house was near the 
landing, and here am I established for the present. I have 
again a most shocking down-cellar room just as I had in 
London and elsewhere, but it is large, perfectly quiet, like 
the northern mind and tongue ; and I am as easy as if I were 
higher, perhaps not better ojff. For the first time it is 
cloudy, and it just begins to rain. The first rain since I left 
home, I think. I do not at all regret it, for I feel that I 
want rest. I left home the twelfth of May. I have nearly 
reached the end of my tether, certainly, northward, or east- 
ward. But with the thick clouds, and cellar-like obscurity 
of my room, I am writing at ten minutes to nine without a 
candle, and break off" here, as tea is served up at nine. I am 
told other meals are thus arranged. Breakfast, half past 
eight to nine. Lunch at twelve. Dinner, six. Tea, nine. 

St. Petersburg, Wednesday, June 16. — The approach 
to St. Petersburg is truly fine. The Neva is a broad, rapid 
river. Ships of war are built at St. Petersburg, but are 
sent down empty, and on camels when necessary, to Cron- 
stadt, where is the navy yard. As you come nearer St. 
Petersburg, the river contracts so as to give you Peterhofi", 
the Emperor's summer residence, and various other residences, 
and which are most luxuriantly supplied with forest trees, 
shrubberies, &c. The sun was shining in the freshness of 
the morning, and at length we came within seeing distance 



JOUKNAL. 161 

of the city. The first thing we saw was the dome of St. 
Isaac Church. It is covered with gold, at an expense of I 
don't know how many ducats. Then the thin, very tall, 
gilded spire of Peter and Paul's Church, and of the Ad- 
miralty, shooting up to heaven like rays of light. I cannot 
tell how much splendour and gorgeousness were before us, 
and seen at the very hour (nearly noon) to make every such 
thing more intensely visible. I saw the dome and these 
spires some time before I caught sight of the city itself. The 
country on each side of the river was at hand, and was 
readily seen. But where was St. Petersburg, of which I 
was seeing such splendid evidences ? It was far below the 
horizon, and some time passed before its buildings came 
into view. I did not leave or lose the golden vision till 
warned, by nearing the land, that I was to become a part of 
the great scene before me, and I could not but feel that in 
the apprehension of all this magnificence, that I had an in- 
tellectual and moral property in it, which was quite as well 
for me, as if I had all its gold in my pocket , — as if the em- 
pire were mine. 

I found a very cordial reception at Mrs. B's. She is 
English, very agreeable, with a good face, and very pleasant 
voice. I have told you of my room, but I am so used to it, 
after a few hours, that it does not at all disturb me, especi- 
ally as I am learning to thread the labyrinth by which I 
reach it. I lunched at one, dinner came at six. But how 
was the intervening time spent ? In dressing, then in re- 
ceiving Mrs. Brown, then in a drive to the Minister's with 
my despatches, and lastly, to the Hotel de Russie, where I 

heard Mr. and Mrs. of Boston were, in the hope they 

would take home this letter, which gradually grows so very 
large, that I fear nobody will read it. They had gone, how- 
eve'r, and so the mass must bide the time. I now drove 
about St. Petersburg. What a magnificent city it is. 
How nice in all external art. In all its appliances to make 
social life agreeable. I passed constantly palaces, and the 
14* 



162 JOURNAL. 

kindred abodes of palaces. The magasins or shops, are rich 
beyond example, and the breadth of the streets exceeds any- 
thing within memory. I was amused to find stiests with 
wooden blocks. In some places they were in excellent 
order, but in others as bad as we ever had them in Boston. 
Here, they were replacing the old with the new, there put- 
ting planks for receiving blocks. I passed a collection of 
barracks. Their extent is very great, and near them is a 
splendid church, with its golden dome and spire. That, 
said the courier, who is as much at home in Russia as in 
Denmark, his home ; that church was built by the officers 
of a regiment for themselves, and the soldiers belonging to 
these barracks, and they attend service in it regularly. 
Now this does not look bad, does it ? I honor it from my 
heart. If they will be mad enough to have wars, is it not 
well to be so wise as to prepare men for peace. How much 
before me is for sight and thought. But so little am I of a 
sight lover, that I shall leave much, much unseen. In truth, 
the story that the works themselves, the institutions of men, 
tell, is so much more important to me than their written 
history, that half the truth does not reach me. But the 
simple, present fact, that in the sixtieth degree of North 
latitude, such a city as St. Petersburg is, that it is built 
upon what was marsh, and pool, and running, rushing 
waters, as is the Neva now; that the very earth, as well as 
stones, were brought from a distance to create the city's 
place ; that all this earth was brought by men in hand-bar- 
rows, because the marshes would not bear the weight of 
wagons and horses ; — when its history is before me in 
itself, I confess that the present fact tells me so much of 
human, — naked human power, — exerted for the highest 
ends, that in my admiration of it all, I do not ask for the 
detail, do not ask for concealed beauty, and splendour, and 
use, but avoiding all impertinences, look as on the greater 
works, or traces of human power, — its stupendous comple- 
ment, with thanksgiving and with reverence. Most grateful 



JOURNAL. 163 

am I for this opportunity of standing amidst such works, — 
of living amid such displays of human power, — of seeing 
man's works partaking of the permanence of the everlasting 
in nature, some of whose laws have been suspended in their 
creations, and in the midst of all this, have the deep con- 
sciousness that all I see is in the power of all to do, 
that there is no limit to human power, and that in its 
depths it is free, — that the living streams of immortality 
are all there, and will have an hour and a day for their 
best and highest manifestations. I am in the midst of 
human energy. Life flies here, while it creeps elsewhere, 
and if you are out of doors with it, you must look out lest it 
do you harm, while you are wondering at it all. This re- 
mark reminds me of the mode of travelling about the streets, 
driving in St. Petersburg. You can have no notion of it. 
It is a perfect hand gallop, a steeple chase in crowded streets. 
The drosky is a strange customer, I assure you. It has 
the least possible protection, the seat being without hardly 
any back, or sides. And on, on, goes the horse. The 
streets are, in places, rough to a degree you cannot dream of, 
and as you jump out of one hole into another, the only 
question is, into which you will most probably be landed. 
Now, recollect that everybody drives like mad. When 
danger seems imminent, all you hear is a very faint hint 
like a cry, that your rival does not come too near to you, or 
you to him. My courier and I got home safe, and have en- 
gaged the same carriage for this morning, for call-making, &c. 

Dinner. — Dr. Johnson, of blessed memory, thought 
much of a good dinner. It is generally liked. But here, 
it is a circumstance. I had my seat assigned me. I was 
not introduced to anybody. I never begin conversation. 
So all I did was to say " no," to the servant when I did 
not like the looks of things, or " yes," when I did, in that 
sort of tone which by its indifference makes it very uncer- 
tain if it be, " I thank you," or anything else. Servants go 



164 JOURNAL. 

round, one with meat, say, another follows immediately with 
gravy, and a third with vegetables. Here is a muss in- 
deed, and were it not for habit, the drill, &c., I should 
think there might be cross and jostle in earnest. Recollect, 
you have two squads or gangs of men, one having one side 
of the table, with its respective wares, the other, on the 
opposite side. What dignity in a dinner ! How do soup 
and salmon get glorified by such a process ? We had both 
of these yesterday ; next, squab pie ; next, roast mutton with 
vegetables, very nice stringed beans amongst them ; then an 
indescribable pastry, dessert, cheese, butter, — and, — an 
end. And glad was I. It is pretty hard to use one's lips, 
tongue, and all the other vocal, or associated organs, for no 
other purpose but to fill the stomach, though " this does 
not defile a man," at least we have the highest authority 
for this declaration, and as to what came out of my mouth, 
it certainly did me no harm. But we had talk, such as it 
was. It was of ioating, bathing, bowling, and many other 
things beginning with a B. I was told by a kind friend, that 
conversation in Russia was not for communicating, but 
concealing opinion. And never in my life, have I heard 
just so much of this article of non-committal, a certain Ameri- 
can President's mode of utterance, as at yesterday's dinner. 
It was sustained entirely by Englishmen, and if you only 
except the most extraordinary pronunciation, which charac- 
terized it, you had really nothing in it which deserves a 
comment or a record. An Englishman just opposite the 
writer, had occasion to use the word clever, but kindly 
qualified his use of it by saying he meant Yankee clever. 
Now as I was the only full blooded Yankee present, his 
explanation was, of course, for my edification. But I eat my 
beans, and shamed Pythagoras, for whom you know I have 
large reverence. But it is just breakfast hour, another meal, 
and so here she goes I Let me only add it is a beautiful 
morning, and as cool as the north need be in midsummer. 
Yesterday grew warm, hot, windy, gusty, dusty. He or 



JOURNAL. 165 

she who will know something of the fulness of all these 
meteorological phenomena, must come to St. Petersburg. 
The streets are so wide, so much used, so full of positive 
powder, that one has no occasion to utter that euphonious 
sailorism, "blast my eyes ; " they get all that, and more, 
without asking. I had a hard day's work. The breakfast 
was very pleasant. A few early risers met at table, and we 
had some good talk. Next, and also opposite to me, sat 
two Englishmen. We talked much of England. Of Lon- 
don as it was, of London as it is. I was the senior of the 
party, and said what London was forty years and more ago, 
for 1 was there in 1810, and 1811. It seems there is a plan 
for taking down Westminster bridge, the crack bridge when 
I was first in London, and an appropriation has been made 
of money by Parliament, with which to build a temporary 
bridge, while the old one is passing through the process of 
removal, and till the new one is builded. The over-peopled 
island was much talked of; and it was remarked, that such 
was the positive difficulty of bettering a depressed condi- 
tion, that it was seen to be fruitless to make the attempt, 
and so, by living as good lives as it was possible, sustaining 
excellent characters, men were dragging through life to die, 
and to be happier so. To me there was sadness in all this. 
Said one, on the continent, France for instance, a man of 
good and industrious ways may buy a little land ; this he 
may cultivate, have his cow, his pig, his fruit, &c., and live 
above want. But an Englishman cannot do this. He must 
be poor, if so he begin in life, for there is no chance for 

him. " My father was rector of " said one. " There 

were commons belonging to the glebe, or to some other 
interest. An act of Parliament was got for enclosing these, 
and by this process a very respectable peasantry, who for 
years had used the commons for purpos3s of real comfort, 
were at once dispossessed, their cows sent home, all other 
uses of the land denied to them, and an amount of discom- 
fort produced, which an American could not understand. 



166 JOURNAL. 

Now," it was added, "there was no injustice in this act 
of Parliament, or in its operation ; use had not destroyed 
right. The commons were private property, and it was the 
duty of the legislature to grant the privileges and rights pro- 
ceeding from such a relation to the land." Much was said 
of recent efforts to improve the condition of labouring men, 
by the building of houses embracing all necessary means of 
comfort, good sleeping rooms, light, water in abundance, 
ventilation, model houses. Much has been done, and much 
in prospect for accomplishing all these objects, and the 
result has been very encouraging. The new town on the 
other side of the Mersey, — Birkenhead, — was named as 
having succeeded perfectly, and thus the respectable work- 
ing classes of Liverpool were made very comfortable, hav- 
ing places which they can reach for a triRmg ferriage ; and 
cool, pure air, bathing, &c., ready for their return. Read- 
ing rooms belong to some of these establishments, and these 
are producing excellent effects by satisfying demands for 
pleasant and useful occupation, where ordinary social posi- 
tion, by itself, might fail to meet the demand, and the 
tavern come to be the only relaxation of labour. London 
was spoken of as having done much, and as constantly 
doing more in this highest regard. The health of the 
metropolis has been especially studied, and at the instance 
of the Queen, parks had been opened, streets widened and 
kept clean, and comfort and health thus provided for, after 
a manner which heretofore has been unthought of. It 
seems that Smithfield is to undergo an entire change in use. 
A new place has been, or is to be bought for the Cattle 
Fairs, which have been for so many ages held there, and thus 
a great public nuisance will be abated. These plans are of 
great interest in such populations as London, Liverpool, 
&c. The surface on which such numbers are obliged to 
stand, move, sleep, eat, work, live, is so small, — the num- 
bers are so great, and so disproportionate to the surface, 
which must supply them with so many things, so much, that 



JOURNAL. 167 

every successful attempt to make it larger, and so more use- 
ful, is a most important step in that progress, Avhich slowly, 
very slowly, but surely, society is this day making; and 
to which men of thought, men of heart, and of mind, are 
more and more deeply directing their attention. 

Allusion was made above to the Queen of England, 
Victoria. I think there has hardly been on the English 
throne a monarch more widely reverenced and loved. Her 
sex, its demands, its interests, — her kindness, her regard, 
as we have seen, for that which is truly important to a 
state, — her frequent progresses through her dominions, and 
the manner of them, — these, and many other things in this 
exalted personage, have made her peculiarly the home, the 
domestic friend, of a great people. Her political position is 
as striking as is her social. Never, perhaps, in England's 
history, has Parliament, the House of Commons, expressed 
itself so openly, so strongly as a department of the govern- 
ment, in whose hands lies all the power, by which the poli- 
tical being and relations of the state are sustained. Said one 
of different views, " I say it with no disrespect, or want of true 
reverence for the Queen, for no subject can be wanting in 
this or these, but I do say that her majesty has small place 
in the political management of this great, this wide nation. 
In the House of Commons, perhaps, more than ever before, 
lies the true power of the state. For the two last years, 
literally nothing has been done, and we have now the very 
singular fact presented to us of a ministry holding office, 
and carrying on the country, which wants a majority in the 
House, — a ministry which, in fact, does nothing, and can 
do nothing." He witnessed the Militia Bill, as showing 
how sternly the doctrine of doing nothing was entertained 
and acted on, and very much questioned if any good thing 
could come of a dissolution. Few things strike a stranger 
here in Russia, more strongly, than the perfect freedom with 
which Englishmen talk of their country. To be sure, it is 
individual opinion only. But this opinion is formed by 



168 JOUBNAL. 

much industrious and careful reading of the best news- 
papers in the world, — newspapers which discuss measures 
after a manner unequalled elsewhere, — and which go fear- 
lessly into questions of the present, and of the future ; of 
themselves and of other nations, and authoritatively declare 
what, and when, shall be done, — that, or those things, which 
will most surely and widely subserve the highest public and 
private interests. In America the perfect freedom of politi- 
cal thought and expression is no more possessed and de- 
clared than in England ; and it will hardly be claimed by 
the republic, that its means of light on all political matters 
are more or better than in Great Britain. 

My morning, or most of it, was spent in going to and 
staying at, or in certain public offices, to get passports for 
myself and courier, and permission to stay here three or 
more weeks. This is a tedious business ; but you can 
hardly complain concerning it, as your coming is entirely 
an affair of your own. Being here, you must do what law 
and custom require, and he who does it with patience, and 
in quiet, studies alike his own dignity and ease. He will 
be aided by the public officers, and treated with a courtesy 
which a different course will hardly procure. That we can 
do exactly thus is not always possible, but I am certain it is 
always worth trying for, and when attained will bring with 
it only pleasure. I was so much occupied in this matter, I 
did little else all day. I took a very long walk to find 
Messrs. R. & Co., to whom I had a letter, but failed, asv 
they were out of town. I believe Mr. R. passes part of 
his time in summer with his family, at Peterhoff. I find 
most people, to whom I have letters, out of the city, or I 
cannot get at them. I am sorry for this, because I have no 
doubt they would contribute much to increase the pleasure 
and advantage of my residence here. I am resting some- 
what, and hurried travel has made this necessary. I was 
sitting here in my new room, and one to which I was trans- 
lated in the morning, when the servant announced Mr. W. 



JOURNAL. 1G9 

He came in at once, and made me a very pleasant call. He 
is Secretary of Legation, was educated in law at Cambridge, 
and hence knew many of our young men. He is of the 
standing of C. P. C, jr., Danl. S. C, and has an important 
position here. He drives his carriage, and his official posi- 
tion gives him admirable opportunities for seeing much 
which will serve him. He is well educated and well look- 
ing, — agreeable in manner and in conversation, simple, but 
constantly showing he has not been an idler. He has 
offered to take me round to places of interest, and brought 
the Minister's regrets, that continued ill health prevented 
his extending to me such attentions as it would have given 

him pleasure to bestow. I shall call on Mr. B when I 

return from Moscow, and shall execute a commission for 
him, which will much aid my progress to France. Our 
house is quite empty, many of its inmates being on a visit 
to Moscow. This makes it rather dull, but there is so 
much variety abroad, that I do not languish for interest. It 
has suddenly become very warm, a common thing in the 
advent of the Russian summer, but to my joy, I am able 
to walk, and without fatigue, and hardly any of my old 
lameness, and after a manner and to an extent that utterly 
surprises me. I began in London with hacks, and so here ; 
but I have given them up almost entirely, and find much 
benefit in the change from driving to walking. So that 
when I get home again, I shall dispense with horse and car- 
riage altogether, — another gain from travel. I have said 
but little about people here, for I am in no hurry to do so. 
But one experience I will note. I have seen very, very 
little intemperance since I left England. I may say none 
that deserves record. But exceptions suppose rules. I 
may say here, that I have seen one drunken man, and one 
only. He was a dealer in turnips, a large tray of which he 
was carrying en his head. He stood on the Quay, opposite 
our piazza, crying his turnips, and making every species of 
twist and turn to preserve the balance of his tray. He did 
16 



170 JOURNAL. 

this so well, that only one or two would now and then fall 
out, and some boys were at hand to pick them up for their 
own use. At last, on he went, very soon turning down a 
passage way to a boat hard by, in which I saw him preci- 
pitate himself and his wares, hurriedly indeed, but still 
sustaining himself very well. I am quite willing to make 
this long note of what may seem a trifling matter, but as it 
is the only one of its kind I have seen, I have given it place 
in this journal of facts and of thought, and which, being 
designed for home, has relations to its destination which 
makes the occupation wholly pleasant to me. Intemperance 
is the vice of all northern climates. I hear of it existing 
here to an extent that we in America know nothing of. I 
have no doubt of the truth of these statements, and of the 
causes, beneath the power of which such habit has its 
establishment so widely. But I have stated what my own 
observation has revealed. 

I cannot forget the length of the day here, and the daily 

additions to it. I was talking last night with Mr. , a 

distinguished English engineer, till after twelve, and the 
light was so perfect that a lamp or candle had not been 
lighted in the house. I go to bed without the least diffi- 
culty ; nay, I think I could read fair print all day, or rather 
night. I was more struck with the brightness of the twi- 
light last night, than at any other time, and felt sure that 
the sun was up, and with difficulty fell asleep. A fellow- 
boarder at twelve, midnight, read Milton to me from a fine 
print, as easily as at noon. 

Friday, four to five, a. m. Yesterday brought with it 
its duties, — and to me not the most agreeable, — sight- 
seeing. St. Petersburg is a show-place in all senses of the 
word. Everything is designed to tell to the public eye and 
mind, how much may be, and how much is done for the 
public which shall attract their attention, interest, amuse 
them. You see this purpose as soon as you reach this 
almost stepping-off place of the latest civilization. The 



JOURNAL. 171 

churches utter this word from afar in their gilded and golden 
domes, turrets, towers. The approach, — the closer view, — 
does not at all disappoint you. External architecture has 
done, and does, what may be in its power to reach slowly, 
or at once, the public interest. The detail is curious. 
Here is a city of half a million of people covering a wide 
surface, with wide, unusually wide streets, traversed by 
continuous carriages, from the humblest fiddle, fly, and 
drosky, to the most splendid equipage, producing infinite 
dust, with which strange currents are felicitously favouring 
your eyes, nose, and dress, — and in which vehicles are 
driven after a manner we at home know nothing of. In 
this great city the arrangement for watering the streets are 
on a most minute scale, as if a more enlarged system would 
do the work so thoroughly, and so easily, that the people 
would lose sight of the hourly effort made here to contri- 
bute to their physical comfort. The plan for watering the 
streets is this, — take a barrel of water on a barrow, — a 
bucket, — and a man. A street a mile or two long may 
have this establishment in it twice a day, and the water is 
gently sprinkled about that number of times. It is pretty 
clear that the wind and the dust will blow where they list, 
and that it will be pretty clear whence one of them at least 
Cometh. I said above that the various vehicles are passing 
in every direction through very crowded thoroughfares. 
This is done with very rare injury to the passers by. The 
drivers utter a faint cry, or whine, which everybody seems 
to hear, and those who are nearest at once take heed to it. 
The penalty is very severe, if injury be done to any one. 
The police rush in at once and seize the carriage, which, 
with the horse or horses, become the property of the one 
who seizes them. If death happen, the driver is knoutted ; 
if injury be less, he is dispatched with all convenient speed, 
first to the Sparrow Hills, so called, and when a sufficient 
number are accumulated to form a caravan, he, with the 
others, is sent to Siberia. By this system, which is per- 



172 jouejn^al. 

fectly certain in its issues, one of the benefits of power, 
wliich is power, the public safety is provided for, and per- 
fectly secured. In connection with this topic for saving 
limb and life, is the following relating to persons injured or 
taken ill in the streets. I was driving one morning with 

Mrs. , and something occurred which led to a remark 

on helping a person who had met with an accident in the 

street. Mrs. said that I must never offer the least 

aid in such a case, and added, that one day driving, she saw 
a person fall, as in a fit, in the street. She drew at once 
the check string, and directed her servant to stop and let 
her out of the coach, that she might help that woman in a 
fit. He advised her by all means to do no such thing, for 
by so doing, she would be regarded as a witness in any suit 
or investigation which might follow, — especially if the 
woman was injured, or died, — and as such suits last for 
years, she would not be allowed to leave Russia until a 
final decision should be had. I spoke of this to a Russian 
merchant from Kioff. He said that it was true, and that a 
friend of his had suffered extreme inconvenience and posi- 
tive trouble, from interfering between two servants of his, 
an Englishman and a Russian, who were fighting in his 
yard. Years passed before the matter was adjusted, and he 
had all that time to be on hand, or in waiting for call of 
court. The case is precisely the same if you attempt to 
assist a person who has received an injury. You are by 
such an act a witness of what has happened, and are held 
as such till the whole cause is settled, which, in some acci- 
dents, may reach to years. The course is when a person is 
taken ill, or is hurt, for the police at once to interfere, and 
to take the person in charge. He or she is then carried 
home, with all needed care, or to a hospital, if the residence 
cannot be immediately found. This procedure, in such a 
community as a great Russian city, is probably the best 
that could be devised. At all events I heard no objection 
made to it. 



JOURNAL. 173 

In order to get eclat or speed in driving, you find this 
arrangement. Two or three horses are attached abreast of 
each, either to a drosky or other vehicle, and off they go. 
One trots and one gallops. I saw yesterday this in perfec- 
tion. One horse was white, the other dark. The latter 
was in the shafts, whitey aside of him. The darker trotted 
hard, — the white galloped to the top of his speed, throwing 
himself about in full play. Everything seemed to be in 
perfect order, and nothing but the dust was disturbed. 
You sometimes have a horse on each side of the shaft one, 
and they make a beautiful picture. The side animals are 
lightly and loosely harnessed, are selected for their beauty, — 
have often full flowing manes and noble tails. The mode of 
harnessing allows them to do just as they please. You see 
them always galloping, sometimes at the sides of the shaft 
horse, but often at a right angle with him, or less, and as 
full of play as a spoiled child. They do not work, are mere 
pets, aad for display. I heard this mode or fashion is de- 
clining. I cannot but think it will be a real street loss 
when it is discontinued. It is full of life, grace, beauty, 
and in its variety of outfit, makes the Admiralty, the Nevskoi 
Prospect, &c., the gayest, handsomest thoroughfares in the 
world. 

But the sights. I took this discipline on foot. I walked 
very far, in all. Churches were among my objects. These 
form a very important part of the material for curiosity here. 
I first went to the church of the Casernes, built by the 
officers of a regiment for the soldiers. So I was told, at 
least, and if it be a fable, why let it be such. The build- 
ing is not yet finished, but little remains to be done, as it 
seemed to me, only to remove the scaffolding. But so slow 
is progress in this northern air, that nobody knows how 
long the scaffolding will remain. It is sufficiently finished 
for service, — the church, — and no one who enters it will 
fail to be struck with the simplicity and nobleness of its 
architectural attempts and accomplishments, — its lofty 
15* 



174 JOURNAL. 

walls, massive granite columns, — the elaborate finish of the 
ceilings, and the whole arrangements for the objects of its 
construction. I know of no such structures amongst us. 
The Greek service, with its elaborate ceremonial, demands 
all that architecture can do to save it from suspicion, while 
its dignity is preserved. And when this, or these, are 
accomplished, as is the case here, it presents itself to us in 
an elaborateness of detail, an earnestness of result, which 
leaves the Romish church far behind. This was all discov- 
ered to me in my next visit, viz., to the Kasan Church, or 
Cathedral. This, in its vast colonnades and other arrange- 
ments, is said to be an imitation of St. Peter's at Rome. 
Whether this be so or not, I cannot tell. I have not seen 
St. Peter's, and probably shall not. But more : I have no 
disposition to compare things with each other, always having 
detested the doctrine and practice of models. I look at 
things in themselves, and it is very soon apparent in what 
the pleasure they give you hath its source. This fe in all 
that which makes the thing seen, just what it truly is. 
This has its whole source in that which gives true being to 
the thing itself. It is never by the true observer looked for 
in resemblance, likeness, identity, — but in something else 
and more, — viz., in that which distinguishes a thing from 
all other things, and which has furnished you with new 
knowledge, another revelation of human power, and for 
this demanding your reverence, your gratitude, and your 
love. In the Kasan Cathedral, you are impressed with the 
vastness and harmony of its parts. The style is simple, 
austere, not looking for effects in the variety of its move- 
ments, — sudden changes in its aspects, — but in a grand 
progress from mass to mass, until the individual passes into 
the general, and a sublime unity is before you. It is rather 
the action of your own mind upon materials so fitted to give 
to it strength of manifestation, or use, than the simple 
vision of that which is so wonderfully fitted to thought, and 
thought so worthy the time and whole occasion. You see 



JOURNAL. 175 

disturbances indeed, human impertinences, enough to make 
you sick of the machinery of government, — of the means 
by which men are to be governed. Against columns of the 
everlasting and most rare granite, — against columns so vast 
that you instinctively ask if they are in a single piece and 
grew there, — you see paltry eagles, and ragged, wretched old 
flags taken in war from Napoleon, or rather which fell from 
the frozen hands of his dying comrades in the flight from 
Moscow, — and were afterwards picked up by Cossacks and 
others, — keys of conquered and sacked cities on other 
columns, the fruit of wretched victories. All sorts of poor 
remembrances are here, of man's w^eakness, folly, and sin, 
paraded in a temple to Christ, and to God, as fitting means 
for a divine reverence and a human love. Nothing, nothing 
to me in God's universe, — they are not his work, — nothing 
do I detest and deprecate more than I do these evidences of 
human folly anywhere, — but in a temple made for the wor-; 
ship of the infinite, the pure, the loving, and the holy, — 
what a desecration are they ! what a proof that the mission 
of the Son of Man is in no true sense understood ; that 
ruler and people are yet in their sin. 

The service of the church was proceeding as I entered. 
I always enter a Cathedral with thoughts ^nd feelings which 
such a place is fitted to produce. In itself how grand, 
— in its idea how sublime. You stand as if nearer the 
Divine presence, than elsewhere in God's universe ; and the 
relation you bear to the infinite is here, in a Cathedral, 
more distinctly manifested, and may be, is more clearly felt. 
Your reverence for man increases, and instinctively your 
reverence for yourself. ]SIan in the Cathedral has put forth his 
highest powers, because he has had in view constantly the 
Jiighest end. What more worthy reverence than humanity 
in this declaration of itself. A house for worship is the 
attempt for, — its success, — its completion, is a House of 
God. There are no statues in the Greek church. But 
there are paintings, and all other objects which may meet 



176 JOUKNAL. 

the eye and find their way to the heart. There is music, 
and chanting, and reading of Scripture, and of prayer. 
Crossing, — kneeling, — prostration, — kissing of pictures, 
— every mode in which love and worship can declare them- 
selves, are in requisition and practice here. I have often 
witnessed the service in the Romish church. But I have in 
no instance met with anything which compares with the 
whole ceremonial in this Greek Cathedral, — and the same 
is true of all the rest. The worshipper enters uncovered, 
and when within sight of the altar, he begins to cross him- 
self, and continues to do so for some time. He approaches 
the holy place nearer and nearer. He kneels, and continues 
to make the sign of the cross. He prostrates himself, plac- 
ing his forehead on the stone floor, and there keeps it for 
some time. He rises, and again prostrates himself, making 
many crosses in the meantime, but in place of pressing his 
forehead on the floor, he applies to it the back of his hand. 
All this is done with the utmost solemnity, but still with 
much earnestness. One man, advanced in years, approached 
a painting of the Virgin, the most of which, excepting an 
eye, was very carefully covered, as is usual with such pic- 
tures in the Greek church. He approached nearer and 
nearer, crossing himself continually, until his face rested 
against the portion of glass, at which the uncovered part of 
the Virgin's face was exposed. He kissed it with apparently 
the deepest feeling, and with an audible assurance of the 
act which left it unquestioned. During all the time chant- 
ing and prayer were heard. The whole of this part of the 
service, was deeply solemn, and beautiful. There was a 
prevalent softness of tone, in which expression was not 
Avanting, which I think unusual in such service. The vast- 
ness of the building, the beauty and the power of the 
human voice, the universal reverence, gave to this service 
the deepest interest, and 1 could not but think that it was 
better for the worshipper that he was here. Under what 
endless varieties of forms does not religion in its worship 



JOUPvXAL. 



177 



declare itself ! So various, so opposite, so absolutely anta- 
gonistic are these forms, and such the entire satisfaction 
with which each sect holds and manifests its sentiments, 
that it reall}^ seems very little important what doctrines are 
held, so that they be held in the truth, and declared in the 
conduct. 

From the Kasan, I went to the St. Isaac. This is em- 
phatically the Cathedral. Other churches have the domes 
gilded with gold leaf. This has its covered with beaten or 
plate gold. You cannot understand what is the brightness, 
the gorgeous splendour of its dome, when the sun, in its 
noonday brightness, is upon it, and illuminates it. It is 
truly dazzling. This church was begun by Catherine the 
Great, and remains unfinished. The Director, M. Mont- 
farrant, who is now labouring to complete it, was absent, 
and though I presented a card addressed to him from a per- 
sonal friend, I could not be admitted. I cared less for this 
that I was told on the spot that the scaffoldings obstructed 
the sight so much of the finished part, that it could not be 
seen. The enormous granite pillars were the principal 
attraction. I left to come again. 

It is a popular legend, that whenever St. Isaac Church is 
finished, the reigning sovereign will die. A like legend had 
limited the length, the natural length, of a Russian mon- 
arch's reign and life to twenty-five years, since no one had 
reigned or lived beyond that time. His Majesty, the present 
Emperor, has passed beyond that period, and lives and 
reigns. It was told me when that period in Nicholas's reign 
drew nigh, he went into his closet, and there, for three days 
and three nights, he devoted himself to fasting and prayer, 
for the preservation of his life and reign. This legend of 
the length of a Russian reign, may have no more foundation 
than has that concerning the St. Isaac Church. Yet there 
is an element in the Russian mind which would seem to 
favour the idea that reports of such beliefs are not without 
foundation. Belief, in that range of it which borders on. 



178 JOITENAL. 

or constitutes superstition, is this element, and which has 
its foundation in some or many tenets of the Greek church, 
the national church of Russia. 

The slow progress of church architecture towards its com- 
pletion here, was referred to. This may have its cause in the 
deliberate manner in which industry declares itself in regard 
to all matters. Never have I seen men work with less of 
violence in their various occupations. I have watched them 
at work, and have marvelled much at their deliberateness. 
A portion of wooden pavement is in process of repair in 
front of an imperial residence. It was in hand when I first 
passed it on my way reaching St. Petersburg, and was not 
finished when I left some weeks afterwards. It was worth 
the time to stop and see the Russians work. A block was 
taken up. It was put down again after much investigation 
of its physical properties. It was taken up again. The 
axe, the only tool used iy carpenters here, was found, and 
reached, and taken in hand. Now began the work of 
preparation of that block upon the planks, which, covered 
with tar, or something like it, are always first laid to receive 
the blocks. The block is pared, — smoothed, — its various 
angles measured. It is put into its place. It does not fit. 
Bits of chips, or larger ones, are put under it, — or between 
it and its neighbours. Then the block is again examined, 
— turned, — returned, — and if it will only fit by the frail 
supports above named, it is rejected for present use, and a 
new one tried. Now here is a great deal of time lost in 
the description of this enterprise. But you have no idea 
of the time taken for the work itself. I positively am not 
sure that the block is yet fitted to its place, — and the Em- 
press's palace may not yet have received her. I might 
have said the street was undergoing repair to prevent noise, 
as her majesty is a permanent invalid. 

While speaking of the slow progress of church architec- 
ture in some instances in Russia, and especially as allusion 
has been made to popular theories or legends, as ofi'ering an 



JOUKXAL. 



179 



explanation of this fact, it is but justice to say, that this 
tardiness in the finishing of churches is not peculiar to Rus- 
sia. In Cologne, for instance, we have an example of the 
same, which might better answer to sustain a rule, than to 
furnish an illustration. The celebrated Cathedral, or Dom, 
in that city, was begun centuries ago, and it is yet un- 
finished. Nay, more ; the earlier built parts are decayed, 
a ruin almost, without any but a temporary roof. The 
towers are unfinished, or not begun. And in close propin- 
quity with the venerable and the old, is this day rising the 
new, in all the freshness of recent masonry, and as if smil- 
ing, certainly not weeping, at the deep cut lines of age in 
its elder neighbour brother. I was told that of late serious 
movements are making for the finishing of this stupendous 
work, and that Nicholas I. had contributed many thousand 
silver rubles to this object. This is indeed imperial libe- 
rality, and it loses none of its quality by being contributed 
by one who has no religious sympathy with the doctrines 
believed and taught in the Dom of Cologne. 

Again, go out of Germany or Belgium into France, and 
we have a new instance of that about which I write. In 
Strasburg is a Cathedral, which is the wonder and admira- 
tion of Europe. I have stood by its walls, and examined 
the infinite detail and beauty in which the Gothic mind, or 
style, has here manifested itself. I say beauty, — what 
vastness, what solemnity rules here, and with what efi^ect 
do they declare themselves and their mighty power. Stand 
in the midst of this cathedral magnificence, — its outside 
height, and length, and breadth, — its inside religious light, 
just revealing enough of its meanings, to move in you the 
religious, the divine, and you unconsciously wander back to 
the days of its beginning, and hold communion with that 
mind which conceived its idea, and who in that had faith 
and prophecy of its completion. This Cathedral is unfin- 
ished. One tower only is built. But so perfect is it in all 
its other parts, that this local imperfection exists without 
suggesting the idea of a want of universal symmetry. 



180 JOUHKAL. 

I have anticipated in the two preceding paragraphs 
■what belongs to a later period of this travel's history. But 
the connection Avas so direct between what they contain and 
that which immediately precedes them, that I am willing to 
plead guilty to the anachronism, and to pass on. 

I went to the Admiralty, a monstrous mass of buildings, 
taking the course of the Neva. Here is a dock for building 
ships of war. The Senate, so called, is a fine building, — 
so is a palace opposite to the Admiralty, or Admircdity, as 
Charles chose to call it. The statue of Peter the Great is 
here. It is quite grand. But the effect of the pedestal, or 
rock on which the horse stands, is very much hurt by the 
smoothing down and polishing by which art has endeavoured 
to improve nature. It looks absolutely ridiculous; and you 
feel fretted at the folly which the human labour unfolds. 
Alexander's column of red granite, finely polished, is hard 
by, and is a magnificent afi'air. The shaft, of one hundred 
and fifty feet, in a single piece, is truly beautiful. Fifteen 
feet were taken ofi", lest the base of the shaft should not be 
strong enough to sustain so great a weight. On the other 
hand, in order to sustain the horse of Peter's statue in its 
position, one hundred thousand pounds of iron were inserted 
in its cavity. (?) The figures of man and horse are of brass, 
and weigh nearly sixteen tons. The granite pedestal, be- 
fore it w^as trimmed away and smoothed, weighed fifteen 
hundred tons. Farther support of the statue is derived 
from the folds of a serpent, which unite with the tail. The 
efi'ect of this is by no means agreeable. In nature the posi- 
tion would have supported itself, or such an one only should 
have been selected, which admitted of such natural support. 
Art failed when it required a substitution, which in nature 
would have been a monstrosity. 

An anecdote current about Peter and his horse may be 
given here. This statue is an afi'air of the deepest concern 
and reverence. There are soldiers, guards, about its en- 
closures, and will not permit profane, or any sort of feet to 



JOUKNAL. Igl 

approach it too nearly. It is surrounded by a higli and strong 
iron railing, and the better to guard it, and the railing, a 
low, narrow strip of granite, say a foot high, surrounds the 
bottom of the iron rail. Now nobody is allowed to stand 
on this granite, though by doing so, you have a better sight 
of the statue. Not knowing the rule, I stood upon it. It 
was, however, but for a minute, that I did so, for the sen- 
tinel soon suggested to me, and in somewhat an authorita- 
tive voice and manner, that it was quite expedient for me to 
get down. The hint was taken. But to the anecdote. It 
seems, some years ago, that some Am.ericans, among whom 
were commanders of ships, were in St. Petersburg, and had 
jDassed a day out of the city, and returned to it in a gay and 
somewhat aspiring spirit, for on getting to the Admiralty, 
and abreast of the statue, it was proposed to alight and look 
again at this splendid work. They did this, and one more 
exalted than the rest, said that he would take a ride with 
Peter. He cleared the railing, and soon climbed up by the 
horse's tail, and passed his arm quite familiarly about the 
waist of the Great. Short was his ride. The guard saw 
him, gave the alarm, and most unceremoniously unhorsed 
him, and gave him into the hands of the police. He was 
tried, found guilty, and fined, as report goes, six thousand 
dollars. His friends made a representation to the Govern- 
ment of all the facts in the case, and the fine was reduced. 
The accused remarked to the judge, that this was a great 
sum for so short a ride. " Yes," replied the judge, " but 
if you choose to ride such a horse, you must pay for it." 

The Nevskoi Prospect, or Nevskoi Street, pronounced 
Nevske, is of great length, and is full of interest to the 
traveller, on account of the beauty and splendour of its shops, 
the almost infinite variety of costumes, of nations, of races ; 
the equipages, the fashion, the poverty, the everything, 
which in just such a population would be likely to come 
together, and to circulate whatever of novelty existed there, 
and to present the whole in just such a way as to produce 
16 



182 JOTJRTfAL. 

constant variety and excitement in the individual and social 
life. There are print shops, and the well lined windows 
attract many wayfarers. I was among the number, and 
saw many beautiful things. The usual silence prevailed. 
Everybody seemed to be a stranger to his neighbour, and 
talk was out of the question. I have been cautioned against 
much speech, and not to leave anything in an outside pocket, 
fox which I entertained any value. My person, and my 
handkerchiefs, are safe so far. Let me add here, the care of 
the personal has not been morbid wherever I have been ; 
for the most part there has not been in plan, or practice of 
mine, that which had care in it as an element, and yet I 
have lost nothing beyond a button now and then washed or 
ironed off, in all my wanderings. Among other things, I 
went shopping in the Nevskoi. I selected a famous Eng- 
lish magazine, or shop, where wealth, rank, and fashion, most 
do congregate. I was most attracted towards the jewelry 
department, and to which the mines of Russia contribute 
numerous splendid specimens. I priced a small, but very 
brilliant emerald, and learned that it was two hundred 
silver rubles. Now a ruble is not a dollar, but quite near 
enough neighbour to one, to cause me to think before I pur- 
chased, so that the result of the whole was, that I passed to 
the other side, in the end leaving without buying anything, — 
quite a common result of such experiences, as I am informed 
by those most used to them. And — who are they ? 

After dinner, Mrs. B and her son, my Baltic fellow 

traveller, called in her very handsome equipage, by invita- 
tion the day before, to take me a drive among the Summer 
Islands. Mr. W. of the American Legation, had called, I 
found on my return, in his carriage, to give me a drive 
everywhere, and elsewhere besides. This island drive is the 
crack excursion of St. Petersburg. If Peter, — Peter 
Veliki, — Peter the First, and Great, was St. Petersburg's 
father, the Neva was, is, and ever will be its wet nurse. It 
certainly was its mother. Every drop of water the subjects 



JOURNAL. 



183 



■use, and in every way used, is from the Neva. It is daily 
brought in buckets, tubs, barrels, &c., to your door, into 
the house, up stairs, &c. This is the every-day supply of 
this matter of life, and it seems quite enough. Recollect 
the water is taken directly from the river. Said one to me, 
when I hire a house, I agree with the owner that he shall 
supply me with wood and water at so much a year ; this 
being the very best mode of settling the terms of these im- 
portant matters in domestic life. The Neva is a wide and 
rapid river. The waters are hourly changing, so that their 
purity is pretty well provided for. It is full of islands. 
These are variously connected with each other by bridges, 
and are covered with luxuriant forest trees and shrubberies. 
The roads through these islands are in perfect order, with 
raised sidewalks for the people, who are not permitted to 
range among the flowers or woods. It is, or one island is, 
a royal summer residence, having on it the Palace of the 
Empress Queen. Everything about it, its gardens, hot- 
houses, &c., are in beautiful order. You walk or drive 
about them, as if they were your own ; and to him who 
apprehends, feels, all this array of the beautiful, with taste, 
simple taste for his companion, it is as his possession, and 
by a tenure, which nothing can destroy. 

We drove freely among these retreats of royalty, but to 
which the meanest serf may successfully take his way. It 
was to me among its pleasantest revelations, that the people, 
yes, all the people, might feel at home here. Every sort of 
vehicle was flying hither and thither, bringing its party, or 
carrying it home ; while walkers of all degrees, were loitering 
about, smoking, or else at a small table in the open air, taking 
their cup of tea, or what not, and truly enjoying themselves. 
The water forms a very attractive part of the scene, and 
from some points you can look over and beyond the Neva, 
and catch very tolerable glimpses of the Gulf of Finland. 
Something is wanted. Hills, hills, are dreadfully at a dis- 
count here. Why ? All the roads, forests, palaces, &c., 



184 JOUENAL. 

•which are here, owe their foundation, and their whole 
selves, to soil reclaimed from the sea, or rather to raising a 
morass till it became permanently dry land. What an 
amount of human labour to complete what natural processes 
had fairly in hand. St. Petersburg itself is a still more strik- 
ing proof of what human hands and tiny wheelbarrows may 
accomplish. I can only here speak of results, and grateful 
was I to my new friends for furnishing me so much for 
thought, for pleasure, and for admiration ! How deep is the 
interest of the people here in this work, — the Summer 
Islands. It is said that this whole effort has had in con- 
tinuous prospect a purpose to please the people, — that it is 
with other things a part of that system of compensations 
which are on every side, and which do so much to make life 
tolerable and desirable, under various disciplines. And who, 
Tinder all the conditions, can look for more ? 

The Islands present all sorts of amusements. Singing, 
dancing, instrumental music. A distinguished German 
company is now here. Then there are exhibitions of skill, 
of strength, tableaux vivantes. Smoking, eating, drinking, 
of course, are inseparable companions of such and so varied 
an effort to enable people to enjoy themselves, as the phrase 
is, and to enjoy each other. The season for out-door life of 
this description is very short. The winter is seven, or 
eight months long. The spring is often tardy, and the 
autumn premature. So that, upon the whole, the time of 
roses, — of singing birds, and singing women, — of sweet 
and gentle breezes, is but short, " when winter comes again 
and shuts the scene." Preparation for suburban winter is 
on this wise. Families return to the city. The roads are 
closed up. The bridges are removed, which, as they are 
built upon boats, is quite easily done. The houses are 
covered closely with mats, making quite a curious appear- 
ance, — a house in a tight jacket. In spite of all this care 
so intense is the cold, that the stucco covering of the houses 
often yields to it, and great portions of columns and sides 



JOURNAL. Ig5 

of houses are left bare, so that the coarse bricks are every- 
where seen more or less uncovered. In spring, repairs are 
made of the injuries of frost. Sometimes not very easily, 
for the Empress's house on one of the islands bore ques- 
tionless evidence in June of last winter's cold, in the uncov- 
ered places of the columns of her Majesty's Palace. This 
effect of climate is seen on all sides, and the question con- 
stantly rises if a composition could not be employed which 
would better keep its place. Some material for the same 
object is used everywhere in Europe. You rarely see the 
original true wall. The plaster always stays where it is put, 
and the utmost perfectness of surface is seen everywhere. 
I have spoken particularly of Brussels in this regard. In 
the Admiralty in St. Petersburg, at the front of a building 
devoted to commerce, are monstrous large statues of Nep- 
tune, Commerce, &c., placed there by Catherine the Second. 
Their foundation is brick, and their surface a composition, 
either itself white, or painted white. Winter pays no 
respect to their royal projector, but makes dreadful havoc 
upon them. It carries off nose, eyes, face, all ; and then, 
along the bodies and limbs of these huge deities of the 
world's idolatry or device, deep, deep are the inroads of 
frost. It is June, and the breaches have not been repaired. 
I asked why these brick statues were not replaced by bronze, 
by granite, which figures so largely in front of the Hermi- 
tage, or by marble. " The Empress placed them there," 
was the answer, " and there they must remain." 

Before I go a step further, let me give you some account 
of my introduction to Russia. In London I had the pleasure 
to meet Sir James Clarke in consultation in the case of a 
friend, and told him of my purpose to go at once to Russia, 
and asked him if he knew any one in St. Petersburg to 
whom he could give me a letter. Thinking for a moment, 
he said he did, and would give me a letter to him with 
pleasure. Soon after I received a letter addressed to Sir 
James Wiley, Physician to the Grand Duke of Russia. As 
16* 



186 joirKNAL. 

soon as my arrangements were made for passing some weeks 
in St. Petersburg, — and official demands being got well 
tbrougb, — I inquired for Sir James Wiley's residence. It 
was in the Galerney, a street parallel with the English Quai, 
and directly in the rear of Madame Benson's house, so that 
a minute's walk brought me to the place. I rang, inquired 
for Sir James, and handed card and letter to the servant to 
deliver to his master. It seemed a very long time before I 
heard from above. The rooms about which I wandered 
were singularly deficient in furniture, but on the walls were 
some pictures, which to me are the best furniture. At length 
John appeared, and asked me to follow him to Sir James. 
Upon entering the room, my whole attention was attracted 
by the figure of a very tall old man, — between eighty and 
ninety, — stretched at full length on a sofa. His face was 
harsh, hard, solid. You would never have thought him so 
very old, for these faces wear well, — the skin keeps smooth, 
the features preserve place, and so have their earlier symmetry. 
But the expression was singularly disagreeable. It seemed 
made up of physical sufi'ering, and moral displeasure. Sir 
James's dress was in keeping with expression. He wore an 
old, faded, much soiled, printed calico, dressing-gown. Its 
acquaintance with the laundry could not have been recent. 
His long neck, which in men, especially old men, is rarely 
beautiful, was bare, while the smallest possible portion of 
shirt here and there showed itself. His expression was 
hinted at. His lips were compressed with that force of will 
which says, " You will get little out of me," while the eyes 
were staring- wide open, as if to see most perfectly what was 
at that moment before them. He slowly, with labour and 
pain, half, or nearly half rose from the sofa, and holding my 
letter in his hand, he seemed to be measuring the time which 
he gave to it and to me, going from one to the other in just 
such manner as would make the time devoted to us as nearly 
equal as possible. At length the silence was broken. I 
shifted the leg upon which I had rested, hat in hand, mo- 
tionless from my first entering this strange presence. 



JOURXAL. 187 

" I do not know what all this means," going from mc to 
the letter, and from the letter to me. " What does all 
this mean ? I do not know this Mr. Clarke, nor he 
me. I am not physician to the Grand Duke. I am phy- 
sician to Nicholas, his Majesty — the Emperor. I have 
been physician to four monarchs of this empire, — Cathe- 
rine, Paul, Alexander, Nicholas. I understand nothing 
about this letter." Thus proceeded Sir James, until all the 
steam was discharged, while I stood hat in hand, and 
took it, as the phrase is. There was no escape but in his 
exhaustion. In due time he sunk upon his sofa, and I 
spoke. I expressed great regret that I had given him so much 
trouble, and so much suffering; and begged him to give me 
my letter of introduction ; and with an assurance that I 
would annoy him no more, took my leave. Now you may 
look upon my introduction to Russia as an amusing incident 
of travel, and let it pass. So could not I. I must confess 
it troubled me not a little. Sir James had been looked to 
as a most important agent in my Russian experiences, and 
in a moment the whole prospect had faded av/ay. " The 
fountain from the which my current was tojlow, or else dry 
up," had in a moment ceased, and I was left as in a parched 
desert. Slow was my progress homeward from the Galerney, 
and straight did I walk into my desolate room, and sat 
down to look at the future, — and what a future was it ? 

I had not sat very long before a knock at the door. 
" A servant from Sir J. Wiley." Show him up. " Sir 
James will be exceedingly obliged to you if you will call on 
him immediately." I went, and was showed directly up 
stairs. How changed was the Baronet. He was one vast 
smile,— jubilant, — uproarious. He sprang to on elbow, 
as if he had lost thirty years since I left him, an hour or 
two before. His hand was protruded, " Sit down. I am 
rejoiced to see you. I have found it all out. It is Sir 
James Clarke, the Queen's physician. He wrote to my 
nephew, who was a knight. I am a baronet, with armorial 



188 JOURXAL. 

bearings, made such by bis majesty George IV. Your letter 
was to my nepbew, physician to the Grand Duke, Alexan- 
der. He died a year ago." And here Sir James laughed 
heartily, as if there was something queer in a nephew's 
death. " Let me know how I may serve you." A desire 
was expressed to visit the civil and military hospitals. 

*' Dr. , with the rank of colonel, will call on you in the 

morning, and visit all these institutions with you." After 
this a day scarcely passed while I was in the city, that I did 
not call on Sir James. Upon one occasion a young gentle- 
tleman came in of somewhat singular appearance. His dress 
was a flowing black garment reaching to his feet, with very 
full sleeves. It was of a thin woollen texture, but stiff, so 
as to stand off and occupy much space. His complexion 
was dark, hair and eyes dark, and his features decidedly 
Eastern. He was a Persian. He was very handsome. 
Sir James introduced him to me, saying that he was his 
son, — or rather Godson. " I have made a Christian of 
him, — have had him baptized, and stood Godfather." The 
old Baronet was in excellent spirits. An officer came in, who 
was introduced to me as the physician to the Empress, Col. 
Carrell. He was splendidly dressed. His uniform was 
white, — snow white, — fitting him perfectly. His epau- 
lettes, sword-hilt, scabbard, sword-belt, hangings, were of 
the brightest burnished silver. He stood at rest with his hat 
in his hand, as handsome a man as you will see in a thou- 
sand. I said stood, for nobody sat in the presence of the 
head of the Military Bureau of the Imperial Army. After 
some very pleasant talk I took my leave. 

At another visit. Sir James talked of his war experiences. 
Among other things he spoke of the battle of Leipsic. 
Moreau, who was then fighting on the side of the allies, 
had both his legs shot off by a cannon ball. Sir James 
amputated both limbs upon the field, but such was the 
shock which Moreau had received from the ball, that he 
survived but a few hours after the operation. It was in 



JOURNAL. 189 

connection with the service rendered by Sir James in that 
battle, that he was made a baronet, with the privilege of 
armorial bearings. He told his servant to bring him the 
patent of his baronetcy, signed by the English monarch, 
which it was evident he was happy to show me. In con- 
nection with this was a display of all the decorations and 
orders, which he had received from the many monarchs he 
had served. I told Sir James of my purpose to go to Mos- 
cow. He said he would give me letters (which he after- 
wards did) to his Excellency Prof. Fischer, the head of the 
Russian Bureau of Natural Sciences, and to Dr. Pfsehl, 
principal medical officer of the great Military Hospital in 
Moscow. 

Upon another occasion something was said Vvhich carried 
him back to his boyhood, and his servant was ordered to 
bring him a certain package, which was very carefully 
opened, and its contents showed to me. " Here," said Sir 
James, " are my school books, my first writing books, my 
ciphering books, and these are my mathematical manu- 
scripts. You see I have kept them all." They were in 
perfect preservation, — and arranged after the order of time. 
The writing was excellent, and the neatness of them all 
showed how early had been formed the habit of doing well 
what he had done. Here was an old man, between eighty 
and ninety, and here were the records of his earliest days. 
He took obvious pride in them, and it was without an 
effort, to take part in his feelings, and to express the plea- 
sure which such a passage in such a life had excited. Some- 
thing was said of the interest which would be taken in the 
history of such a life. Sir James said that he had written a 
work, in many volumes, of every important event in which 
he had taken a part. It was finished for the press. But he 
thought it his duty to the Czar to tell him what he had 
done. Nicholas begged him to destroy it ; and with so 
much emphasis was the request made, that he promised to 
comply with it, and had performed his promise. The record 



190 JOURNAL. 

of a long life, which had been spent in the active and 
responsible service of four monarchs, and in the most im- 
portant portions of Russian history, — which, in fact, em- 
braced almost literally, the whole existence of that empire, 
was in a moment destroyed. The evidence which had just 
been showed to me, in the minutest details, of the care in 
which had been preserved the earliest records of his life, — 
the intellectual habits of this old man, abundantly showed 
how well fitted he was for just such a work as he had 
described to me. The regret was expressed at the loss of 
such an autotiography. The answer was, the Emperor had 
directed it, and he had obeyed the command. 

Sir James expressed again and again his regard, his reve- 
rence, his affection, for the Emperor. It was clear that 
great confidence had been reposed in him, and that he was 
under great obligations to Nicholas. I was told that Sir 
James was very rich, his property being between five and 
six million rubles silver. I asked who would be his heir. 
The Emperor, was the reply. He has left his whole pro- 
perty to him. I called to see him on Saturday. Among 
other things, he expressed a strong desire that I should go 
the next day to Peterhoff, to be introduced to the Emperor. 
That, Carrell would be there, — that he w^ould give me a 
letter to him, and that he knew I would be graciously 
received. I thanked him for his interest in me, but felt 
obliged to decline his offer. This surprised and moved him. 
"Not go to Peterhoff! after having com3 so many thou- 
sand miles, and go away without seeing the Emperor ! You 
must go, and I v/ill promise you a decoration, ■ — yes, a deco- 
ration ! and will you lose the chance of such an honour. I 
cannot understand what possible objection you can have. 
I pray you to go." I said that I had been to Peterhoff, and 
had devoted a day to an examination of all its treasures of 
art and of natara, and I feared I could not accept his most 
kind offer. I did not go. 

Sir James gave me copies of his published works. Among 



JOURNAL. 191 

these was a thick volume on the Materia Mcdica of Russia. 
The day before I left St. Petersburg I called to make my 
visit of leave. I found him very ill. He had passed a 
wretched night, and was breathing with so much agony, 
and was so exhausted, that he could hardly raise his hand 
to me, or to say farewell. He was stretched out on the 
sofa, as he was when I first saw him, and it seemed impos- 
sible that he would ever rise from it again. I thanked him 
for all the kindness he h^d showed me, and took my leave. 
It was not without sadness, this leave-taking at the borders 
of the grave. 

Mr. W. called on me in his carriage, for a drive. We 
were talking of the dress of the people, and of the power 
of habit in regard to it. Mr. W. asked me to observe his 
coachman. He wore a very handsome blue caftan, with 
silver lace belt, and collar. His size was remarkable, aid 
was explained. He had his sheepskin shube, dressed with 
the wool, under his livery. The shube is worn next to the 
skin. Think for a moment of the pres?nt intense heat 
here in this Northern summer, and learn how strong is the 
love of a people for national p2culiarities, even reaching to 
dress, and when one would suppose the love of it must, 
in its; practical exercise, bring with it so much personal dis- 
comfort. 

Our drive was various. We started for the Admiralty, 
and passed over much ground before visited. But so mag- 
nificent is it that it maybe seen often with new intere-t. 
The Nevskoi Prospect was, as usual, crowded. We entered 
a large and handsome street, and left the carriage, to walk 
through some ^lingular by-ways, leading directly out of the 
spacious street, into narrow crowded passages full of bazaars. 
They reminded me of the Wynds of Edinburgh, except 
they were not covered above. These alley ways were 
closely packed with small, very low houses, of one story, 
and used for various market purposes. One was devoted to 
the sale of birds, — the bird market, — and it was literally 



192 JOURNAL. 

filled with birds of all note, plumage, clime. The Eng- 
lish lark was singing, as if on its way to heaven, in the 
free air. In another lane, were shops for all sorts of sales. 
In one were narrow barrels, filled with walnuts, dried 
plums, a queer sort of bean, — filberts, — coffee, — tea, — 
pounded bones for manure, — all sorts of things. Then 
shops for an entirely different class of objects. Human 
want, and comfort, and luxury, might here make known its 
need, " and have its claim allowed." No fire or light of 
any kind is permitted in these strange market places (among 
others is a rag market), either in winter or summer. A 
conflagration here would be the easiest thing in the world 
to begin, but the most difficult one to stop. The merchants 
stand all the time at the open doors, — in winter in their 
furs, — and carry on their business as in the best days of 
summer. 

We next drove to the Summer Garden in the city ; left 
the carriage ; walked through the walks ; saw much of rank 
and fashion, but little beauty ; took a steamboat on the 
Neva, and with a crowd of pleasure hunters, went to the 
Mineral Waters. This is the name given to a large public 
garden, in which crowds assemble to see spectacles, walk 
about, hear music and singing, see dancing ; in short, to 
eat, drink, and be merry. The boat and ticket cost less 
than a dollar. We entered first the room of exhibition. A 
military band was playing. The music was loud, heavy, 
crushing, by which I mean ear-breaking. But it was much 
applauded ; that is, as much as these nations ever applaud, 
which is seldom, and small. At length the band, which had 
been in America, struck up " Yankee Doodle," in great style. 
Why, we could not learn, though probably some of Mr. W.'s 
acquaintance, whom we passed, and spoke to many, gave 
the band a hint. Sure am I, they knew nothing of me. This 
place is called Mineral Waters, because in a large saloon, are 
mineral waters of all kinds for sale. A portion of the enter- 
tainment consisted in tableaux viv antes, which were exceed- 



JOURNAL. 193 

ingly well managed. Prometheus' story was the subject of 
one ; the Seasons, of another, &c. What most attracted me 
were some parties of Bohemian Gypsy girls. They come into 
the Russian cities, and appear at places of amusement as 
dancers and singers. They are very handsome, of dark 
skin, very black, but powerful eyes, expressive mouth. The 
deep, luxuriant black hair, grows very low on the forehead, 
but the forehead is seen to be full, and finely formed, a part, 
one half about, being covered by the hair. This is after the 
antique statuary of female beauty, — the Clytie, for instance. 
In America, pains are taken to manufacture high foreheads 
by females. Children have the hair forced back by stiff 
combs constantly worn. Depilatories are also in use ; and 
in one case of which I had charge, not only the hair, but 
the scalp also was removed to the bone. And long was the 
time, and much the suffering, before the deep wound was 
cured. The question has been raised, whether the expres- 
sion is improved by this high and broad exposure of the 
forehead. Mais cJiacun a son gout. The head-dress is a 
black veil, falling at the sides, very like the Spanish man- 
tilla, leaving the face uncovered. The rest of the dress is 
of dark figured silks, shawls, &c. &c., to suit. There is a 
peculiarity in dress in Russia, and in Germany. This is 
its heaviness, solidity. It matters not what is the weather. 
Men and women wear a great deal of clothing. A long 
woollen outside coat, cut to the shape, or a cloak, is very 
commonly worn by men. The state of the weather does 
not alter this at all. I spoke of the coachman and of his 
sheepskin, with the caftan covering all. Soldiers almost 
without an exceptional case, are seen wearing this everlast- 
ing overcoat, or caftan, with their broadcloth uniform 
beneath. The officers wear cloaks. This part of dress is 
said to be worn to avoid dust, but this hardly explains the 
universal wear. The Russian fears nothing so much as a 
change in weather. The thermometer is the commonest 
topic at the hotel. Whenever the Russian goes into the 
17 



194 JOITKNAL. 

country, the Islands, for instance, for an evening drive, lie 
always takes his overcoat, or cloak, and more frequently on 
his back than on his arm. The other evening I was the 
only person among the crowd at the " Mineral Waters " 
who did not wear his outside, or overall coat. I left my 
shawl in the carriage. I have sometimes thought that 
health, and dress, were very useful, and important matters 
here for conversation. Who has less range of topic than 
the Russian ? He has no concern in politics, for this is a 
matter of established and permanent arrangement. Busi- 
ness is very much in the hands of foreigners, and never in 
those of men of rank. An American merchant comes to 
St. Petersburg to establish himself. He first becomes a 
citizen or subject of Finland. This enables him to leave 
Russia, and take his property with him when he pleases. He 
has his business to attend to, and has no concern with any- 
thing else, and if wise, thinks, certainly talks, of nothing 
else. This is a matter of no general interest. The nobility 
have certainly nothing more to do with mercantile afiairs 
than is necessary for personal or social uses. And there is 
no gentry ; at least, no such gentry as constitutes in England 
so large and so important an estate, both political and civil. 
You see how, in such a community, topics of general 
interest come to be narrowed down, and at how great a dis- 
count intellectual activity, or habits, stand in the domestic, or 
social market. The Church, which in its various manifesta- 
tions, has so large a place in the popular interests in some 
countries, has the least possible here, except in its personal 
regards. You see at a glance how deep is the reverence of 
the whole state for the religion of the state. It seems 
never to be forgotten. The little candle burns before a 
little picture of a saint, or an angel, everywhere, and nobody 
passes within range of its feeble beam, at whatever hour, 
and no matter what the urgency of his business, without 
first crossing himself, and in a manner and with a delib- 
erateness which shows you that for a moment the tie which 



JOURNAL. 195 

bound him to the present has been broken, and this without 
violence, and that the union will be in a moment more 
re-established, and he passing on his rapid way. The life 
in such a state is divided between amusement and devotion, 
— health, dress, temperature, &c., and after a manner which 
the actual observer only can understand. I can, therefore, 
find for dress here, and its strange power, explanations per- 
fectly simple, and, I believe, perfectly true. I was talking 
of the Bohemian Gypsies. I spoke of their dress ; at times 
it is gorgeous in the extreme, especially when they appear 
on the stage in the public gardens, &c. - Here, in addition 
to their silks and satins, they have rich jewelry of all kinds, 
giving to them and to thtir striking countenances an aitrac- 
tion which reaches everybody. 1 heard it said that these 
girls are more remarkable for their personal appearance, and 
accomplishments, than for their moral developments ; but as 
the latter are among the questionable matters of popular 
discussion, and as I have no knowledge of the subject, I 
shall leave it where I found it. 

The remainder of the evening was passed in walking and 
talking, in the latter mode of passing which, I had but 
little share. When we returned, and after a fine drive, I 
found myself at the tea table, not far from midnight, and 
was not without appetite for the meal. 

To few things is the late and weary traveller more 
indebted than to the Samovar, or tea urn, which is in 
general use in Russia. To preserve the heat of water at a 
steady point, and just what it should be for use at any time, 
a funnel passes down through the middle of the urn, at the 
bottom of which is a grating to admit a free current of air. 
When to be used at breakfast, tea, or at any time when hot 
water is in demand, the Samovar is filled with cold water ; 
a bit of lighted paper is thrown down the funnel, which, as 
we have seen, passes through its entire length in its centre, 
and some charcoal is thrown over it. The paper rests upon 
the grating at the lower or grated end of the funnel, and 



196 JOIIENAL. 

tlms the heat of the burning charcoal, in passing upward 
through it, is all the time applied directly to the water 
which surrounds it. The water soon boils, and the heat 
may be preserved indefinitely by applying a little charcoal 
now and then. A very little outlay of fuel keeps up a steady 
heat. Suppose the tea has cooled in the pot, nothing more 
is necessary than to place it on the top of the funnel, and it 
soon will be found perfectly warm, and of a delicious flavour. 
In this way tea may be prepared at once for use, several 
hours after the first infusion. Nay, more, if you want a 
boiled egg, all you have to do is to put a tea cup with 
an egg in it, and filled with water, on the top of the iron 
funnel, and it will soon be ready for use. I shall not forget 
my obligations to the Russian Samovar. Speaking of tea, 
I was early aware of the excellent character and qualities of 
Russian tea. I asked about its causes. I learned that the 
tea comes from China overland, and we have all heard of 
the alleged advantage of this mode of travel over that by 
sea, the mod3 by which tea reaches America and England. 
Fruits, apples for instance, lose much of their flavour, we are 
told, by passing over the water, especially to hot climates, 
however carefully packed. Of the truth of this I know 
little except from report, but I have certainly heard of the 
excellence of Russian tea, as compared with that used by 
us. I am now prepared to say that the tea here is of rare 
flavour, and more to my liking than any I have before used, 
whether in America or England. The price is higher than 
with us. Family tea is as with us. The white tea is much 
prized ; and I suppose this to be Pecco or jloicer tea, un- 
mixed with black or green. The Samovar is made of brass, 
and makes quite a handsome addition to the furniture of the 
breakfast and tea table. 

June 20th. — Left St. Petersburg for Moscow at eleven 
this morning, in the convoy, or train, in the second class, as 
usual. I sat in seat No. 39. At the railway station you 
are taught some lessons which it behooves the traveller to 



JOURNAL. 197 

heed, who lives beneath the power and protection of his 
majesty the Czar. You are always under his protection, 
and never did I feel safer, — life more secure than in the 
crowds of the Russian cities, and in its country regions. 
Power declares itself, and is readily acknowledged. You 
enter the station with your hat on your head. An officer 
at once attempts to teach you that the place you have 
selected for it is not its proper one in that particular portion 
of Russia. I walked into the station, as I should at home, 
with my hat on. A man with a badge of office at once 
came up and told me to take it off, or meant to do so, but I 
had been here too short a time to learn the language, and 
quietly looked at him for more definite information. His 
manner grew rapidly more and more emphatic, but I was no 
wiser. At last he adopted the natural language of sign, 
and begun fiercely to rub, and raise his cap. I was no 
longer oblivious, and took off the offending article of my 
out-door toilet, and for a full half hour stood or walked up 
and down this immense room, holding my hat, and looking 
for a seat, but I found none. The railway carriages are 
long, as are ours, entered at end and front ; brake on out- 
side, and not inside the carriage, as I saw was sometimes 
the case in Prussia, and elsewhere. The brakeman finds it 
very convenient, this Prussian mode. The handle of the 
brake is at the end of the seat on which he sits, and he has 
not to move in order to work it. This saves him much 
exposure to wind, cold, rain, &c. But I did not see how 
he learned what was going on outside, or what might hap- 
pen, and thus the train might be driven head on to some- 
thing accidentally, and ruinously, in the way. The carriages 
have a slight frame-work twice across each, which seems 
designed to prevent a collapse of their sides. I sat next to 
one of these, and found it a very convenient place on which 
to hang my hat, shawl, overcoat, &c., and against which to 
rest my head. Now there is an objection to the Russian 
railway carriages. The backs do not reach as high as the 
17* 



198 JOTJKNAL. 

head by a good deal, and, as the night is necessarily passed 
on the road, this is not the most comfortable arrangement 
for sleeping. The stuffing is not as exquisite as it might 
be, and there are no window-curtains. For myself, these 
were not very serious annoyances. I was in very early life 
taught the advantages of the soft side of a board, when you 
were selecting one for a bed ; and I made some arrangements 
for the night travel. I had abundant opportunities for ob- 
serving the workings of the law of compensation, which 
was brought into operation in the station, and in the con- 
voy. You saw parties coming, men, women, and children, 
wet-nurses, and the like. They brought with them supplies 
of pillows, mattresses, cushions, comforters, &c. &c., in 
quantities which to me were appalling, for I could not fore- 
see what could be done with them all. When, however, I 
got my seat, I found them well disposed of under the seats, 
which, as if to favour such an arrangement, are made much 
broader than with us, as were the carriages themselves, and 
in this way abundant room for bedding was obtained, and 
besides, ample space was afforded to place a good high and 
long pillow or mattress behind the back, to support this and 
the head. Then the carpet bags. These were more than 
inexplicable. Everybody had them. And what did they 
contain, these arks of Noah? I answer, everything. 
Oranges, lemons, night-caps, tumblers, bottles filled with 
milk, water, wine, sugar in little paper or pastepoard 
vessels, with nice covers, sausages, tongues ; every species 
of bread, cake, confectionary ; materials for lemonade, 
prepared in a dry state, — how prepared, I know not. 
But for eating and drinking, never had I such oppor- 
tunities for observation and experience. I carried nothing, 
nor did my courier give a hint about doing so. I had there- 
fore only to accept the current hospitality, for current was 
it, or seem churlish or ill-mannered by refusal. On we 
went, very slowly, as it seemed to me, but this was im- 
proved, or its want unnoticed, in the almost hourly business 



JOumsTAL. 199 

of eating and drinking, packing and unpacking tlie omniv- 
orous carpet bags, for devourers were they, as I have abun- 
dantly showed. I had my scat, with my courier in front, 
near and with a party of five, a mother and four daughters. 
One of them sat on the seat with me, with an arm between 
us. Charles just before me, and a very lady-like woman 
opposite my companion, M. E. M., as I found were the 
initials of her name, and daughter of the lady with four. 
^We soon began to talk all round, the whoh party, courier, 
and all. Two talked English somewhat ; the rest, French, 
German, Italian, Russian. The thoroughness of the north- 
ern education impressed me more than once. The facility 
of passing from language to language was constantly noted, 
and I have the useful and reliable evidence of one whose 
own variety and good knowledge of languages, was remark- 
able. I speak of the Continent, and of its northern por- 
tions. How it is in England in this regard, I know not. 
I learned this family's history, and why, without a gentleman 
friend, they were travelling so far from St. Petersburg ; for 
Moscow is between four and five hundred miles from that 
city. They were on their route to husband and father, a 
colonel in the Russian service, stationed at Mount Caucasus, 
and whom they had not seen for two years and more. Two 
carriages were on the freight train, which they would meet 
in Moscow with their servants, for the balance of their 
journey. I became acquainted with these very pleasing 
ladies, for such they were, and of extreme delicacy of 
appearance, and manners. Miss Ellen, the youngest, was a 
sweet child, quite grown up, but, as she told me, not fifteen. 
I took out my pin-cushion, which you so kindly filled with 
pins. Ellen, with great sweetness, which her broken Eng- 
lish made more expressive, asked me for one pin. I begged 
her to take the whole, cushion and all, and added my card, 
that she should not forget me. She refused at first, with 
that timidity which an unexpected kindness or interest 
excited, but at last accepted it, and with perfect childlike 



200 JOURNAL. 

"beauty, ran to lier mother and sisters, to show them her fine 
present. Between nine and ten, p. m., was the hour for 
beginning preparations for the night. The enormous bun- 
dles were dragged, literally dragged from their hiding places, 
under the seats, and arranged in all sorts of ways for repose. 
Change upon change ensued, and it seemed that things would 
never be settled. I was of course ready, for I had no mattress, 
and no pillow. I got my handkerchief ahout my head, as is 
my wont, at home, and in some sort, slept. It was, however, 
a heavy night, and I could not but conclude, now and then, 
that travelling was not all it was cracked up to be, and to 
exclaim, " Who would not sell his farm and go to sea ! " I 
said a " heavy night." It was no night at all. The same 
twilight followed the day as I had on the Baltic. It seemed 
absurd to go to bed, or rather try to make up your mind or 
body to sleep in the natural way. My neighbours bound to 
the Caucasus seemed to be perfectly acquainted with San- 
cho's idea of sleep, and found it as readily as did he. And 
all did the same thing. A universal sleep visited that rail- 
road night-day, and, as I was the only looker on, I could 
observe its phases, without a glance being regarded as out of 
place, or impertinent. The floor of the carriage had its 
scene in the wide drama. There were infant children with 
us in numbers, with nurses wet or dry, to suit. These with 
their charges had their places in the alley- ways, — the pas- 
sages between seat-ranges, and on blankets, bags, or what 
not ? And each baby and nurse performed, without embar- 
rassment, their appropriate functions. 

I assure you this was a new mode of life with me. My 
every-day life was new, and to an intensity in degree, some- 
times, which my somewhat long and varied experience in 
living had never paralleled. A night in time, — a day in 
fact, — an astronomical up, or out-heaval, — stranger than 
a new-born continent in the wide ocean, — a perfect anach- 
ronism. I could not sleep for hours after all others had, — 
not retired exactly, but were in perfect repose, — sound 



joue:n^al. 201 

asleep. What added to the night's interest was ruite a 
severe thunder squall, with rain and lightning. This last 
made queer work with the bright twilight atmosphere. 

Before my family for Caucasus went to their queer beds, 
there was a universal kissing amongst them. Each child 
went to her mother in turn, and gave her a warm, sweet good 
night ; and then in turn they kissed each other, and then, as 
if all duty were not done, those nearest took her hand and 
kissed that all over. Who would not have been more than 
willing to be included in such an office. Day came, or day 
was, for we had no night. Then nine o'clock, a. m., and 
then Moscow. 

Moscow. — The convoy stopped. Luggage was sought 
after. The housekeeping in the carriage was broken up, 
and I took my leave of my new friends, most heartily wish- 
ing them, especially Ellen, a safe and happy journey. A 
short half hour's drive brought me to the " English House," 
and for a time " I took my rest in mine inn." About 4, p. m., 
in a drosky, I drove to his Excellency's, Dr. Fischer, a 
very distinguished naturalist, to deliver my letter to him, 
from Sir James Wiley, of St. Petersburg, as aforesaid. As 
I was told he spoke English well, I went without Charles. 
I reached the house, first of his son, and then his own, but 
found Dr. F. was absent, and that I could not understand 
a word more uttered by those of the two households, and 
that nothing remained for me, but to retire, which I did, 
with all the tranquillity which the circumstances could sug- 
gest. A servant girl offered, by the natural language of 
signs, to show me where the Dr. lived. She ran on before 
me in rather an uncertain Sunday costume, being quite 
wanting in shoes, stockings, length of dress, &c. &c., and 
so better fitted for the office of a guide, or rather, of an 
avant courier. But it was hot, and so I stopped the 
drosky, and took the fair Russie in, and on we drove. 
As soon as we came in sight of her master's father's house. 



202 JOURNAL. 

slie leaped out after the manner of that quadruped, or his 

species, which M and the good Dr. so dearly love, and 

ran into the house. The Dr. was absent, as already set 
forth. I drove back to dinner, and so had quite a chance to 
see something of this ancient Russian capital, Moscow. 

Sunday, June. — And an odd sort of Sabbath, or rest 
day was it. Everybody was abroad, and all sorts of busi- 
ness seemed to be in hand. I inquired about this, and 
learned as a general thing, no work among the citizens was 
done that day, — that it was, however, a fair day, and that 
the country, the whole neighbouring country, poured into 
town with all sorts of things for sale. Hay seemed to me 
to be the largest article of traffic, for a very great quantity 
of it was on the stands. The streets were crowded with 
loaded wagons, carts, and what not — with men, women, and 
children without number. Vehicles of all kinds flew about 
the street, to the no small risk of the good lieges, but all 
succeeded in taking care of themselves. It seems that the 
early part of the day is devoted to the service of the Church, 
the Greek Church, and the rest of it is given to frolic, 
amusement of all kinds in the city, and neighbouring gar- 
dens. At 8, A. M., is a mass for the early ones, and at 
eleven. High Mass for the million, and then the churches are 
closed, or service in them ceases. I did not find the Sun- 
day work was confined to the country visitors of the city, for 
I certainly saw a tailor's shop open, and the people at work. 
When I mentioned this, I was told, that it was an excep- 
tional case. After dinner, I walked in the neighbouring 
Boulevards, with many of the good people of Moscow, all 
well dressed, and of most quiet demeanour, very well pleased 
with the pleasant hour, with the shrubs, trees, and flowers, 
which were about them on all sides. I went home, and 
there met with two gentlemen, who were at the English 
Quai House with me in St. Petersburg, and they made my 
stay in Moscow exceedingly pleasant. One, Rev. Mr. 
E , is a Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford. The 



JOURNAL. 203 

other, an English gentlemen of Yorkshire. The Oxford 
man has travelled a great deal in the East, and could trace 
the architectural relation of Moscow to their Asiatic sources. 
He is very intelligent, very liberal for so conservative a 
position, as is that which he occupies ; and was desirous to 
get back to Oxford to give his vote for Mr. Gladstone for 
Parliament, as Mr. G's. views on certain points had alienat- 
ed his friends, and led them to run an opposition candidate 
for the University. This society was very pleasant to me, 
and because of its refinement, knowledge, and most friendly 
bearing, teaching every hour and every day, that no man 
need be alone in the universe, who has the smallest wish or 
claims for society. Let him only be willing and able to give 
and to take, and to be pleased, and he may run for luck 
about his position. 

June, Monday morning. — Soon after breakfast Charles 
came into my room where I was journalizing, and said a 
gentleman had called to see me. I told him to show him 
up. Said C, he is so very old, blind, and infirm, that per- 
haps I might choose to come down to him. I went down, 
and found in the passage way to the parlour, a very, very 
old man, blind, and moving with great difficulty and ap- 
parent suff*ering. Said I to myself, what can this mean ? 
It was quite early. Who, so old and infirm, has come 
out at such an hour, and in this far-off* city, to see me ? A 
gentleman stepped forward, and in very good French, — good 
to me, for I could understand it, — said, that the gentleman 
before me, was his Excellency Dr. and President Fischer, 
at the head of the scientific institutions of Russia, &;c. &c. 
I took a hand of the old gentleman, while Dr. Reynard, the 
superintendent of the Royal Museum, speaking English like 
an Englishman, and of the best manners of the gentleman, 
took the other, and we guided him very slowly to the par- 
lour, three rooms off", and over waxed and well rubbed 
floors, which did not add greatly to the ease of progression. 
At length the great arm-chair was reached, and the Dr. 



204 JOUKNAL. 

seated. We had now a good long talk, and it was con- 
cluded that Dr. Reynard should take me through the Museum, 
that we should next visit the Kremlin, and last, that I should 
dine with Dr. F. at 4, Wednesday, and there meet Dr. R. 
We now proceeded to guide Dr. Fischer to his carriage, and 
with a gentleness which a peevish child would have been 
won by (and for which we had our aged friend's best kind- 
est acknowledgments), he was safely deposited in his car- 
riage, and left for his home. 

Museum. — We were soon ready, and went, my English 
friends, and their valet de place, and my host and his son 
with me, Dr. Reynard in the first equipage, — all for the 
Museum. This is a fine building, and has many objects of 
great interest. Dr. R. confined himself, as our time was 
short, to some account of the Russian animals in the col- 
lection. Among these were a mammoth of Siberia, not the 
mammoth, for that is in the Museum of the Academy of 
Sciences in St. Petersburg, nor a perfect one, but very inter- 
esting for its locality, size, &c. He showed me what he 
considered the most curious things in the Museum, speci- 
mens of soft parts, very well preserved, of the Siberian 
mammoth, which was found in 1803, by Mr. Adam, on the 
banks of the Lena, in Siberia, lat. 70. " It fell from a 
mass of ice, in which it must have been encased for ages. 
So fresh was the flesh of the animal, that the wolves and 
bears were actually found eating it." It has been a serious 
question how this immense mass of matter had been pre- 
served for so many ages ? It must have been accomplished 
by the preservative powers of ice, and which is employed 
every winter in Russia in the preservation of animal food 
— for the market of that wide empire. Dr. Reynard 
showed us a bit of the skin of the mammoth. It was 
towards half an inch thick. He said he had presented 
Professor Owen, of London, with a very small bit, for which 
he had received that very distinguished professor's best 
gratitude. Dr. R. very kindly gave me a bit of the spinal 



JOUKNAL. 205 

marrow of the Siberian mammoth, and a specimen of the 
fat. I shall preserve these with the greatest care, as they 
are probably die only specimens of that extraordinary animal 
which may reach America. 

Kremlin. — Having examined the Museum as thoroughly 
as the time wq had for this object would permit, we drove 
to the Kremlin. He who is about to visit the Kremlin, had 
better take a long breath. He has much to see, and let him 
proceed patiently. Hurry will be fatal to his whole purpose. 
Here are walis surrounding buildings, gardens, squares, 
which, togetlier, form a triangle which measures a mile. 
The traveller here has to submit to some ceremonial, but, if 
he be a true traveller, this will not annoy him. Among the 
objects which surround him, he may select such as have in 
the hand-book most interested him. But the living guide, 
after all, is chiefly to be relied upon, and his official station 
is the best preparation for his functions. It was my privi- 
lege to visit the Kremlin with some English gentlemen of 
observation and intelligence, one of whom had travelled far, 
as 1 have before said, and so was prepared to observe differ- 
ences and settle questions, which were sure to arise. Ob- 
jects of special interest were the Treasury, and the New 
Palace ; and to these we first addressed ourselves. The 
Treasury is so named, not because it contains and circulates 
money. It is the receptacle and guardian of the public 
wealth ; and of all, or the most important portion of its phy- 
sical, external history. Here are the Crown Jewels, and 
crowns of many kings, — of the Kings and Emperors of 
Russia from its earliest days. The thrones upon which they 
have sat, and from which have proceeded the decrees which 
have directed the state ; not only the thrones, but the gor- 
geous canopies, beneath which have sat the newly-crowned 
on the day of coronation, and which have been their kingly, 
their imperial covering, when the assembled state stood 
uncovered before them. But besides that which pertains to 
Russian personal history, here are lasting records of the 
18 



206 JOUKNAL. 

wars and of the successes which mark the various periods in 
the life of the state. Here are crowns, thrones, canopies, 
the representatives of power, — the globes, the sceptres of 
conquered kings and states, through the whole range of 
Russian history. These things occupy much space, and are 
of the richest materials, and most gorgeous bearings. Here 
are precious stones without number. Gold and silver appear 
in every form which can impress one with the notion of 
extreme value, rarity, beauty, splendour. Here is a saddle, 
a present to a female monarch from an Asiatic prince, which 
absolutely glitters with diamonds, and every other kind of 
precious minerals. Not only does the value of the material 
command interest, but the personal history of things, — 
their special uses, — their owners, — when they were made, 
and what had been their experience, — by whom owned, in 
what war taken, — or by whom in kindness or honour 
given. Everything in these vast and gorgeous halls has its 
history, — tells a story, — takes us into the old time, and 
shows, by evidence which cannot be questioned, what was 
the time, the event, the thing ; and also tells that which 
often is more important than all these, — namely, their rela- 
tions, — what they did, as well as what they were, and what 
was the age that demanded, and made them ! Material 
things, the external, thus become history, — and how elo- 
quent are they here in all their teachings. But the whole 
story is not told in the emblems of royalty — the im- 
perial ermine, the crown, and the sceptre. Here in the 
Kremlin, there are other things which attract attention, and 
sometimes the most. The commonest articles of dress, — 
the table furniture, the first fork, and the horn-handle 
dinner-knife, — the awkward spoon, which, if designed for 
dipping, had but little preparation in its form for holding 
what it might receive. Here is the identical table furniture 
of Peter the Great. Here are articles made by himself, of 
ornament, and for use, — his own knife, fork, &c., and as 
little regal in material and workmanship as can anything 



JOURNAL. 207 

well be. Here is tlie common, tlie every-day, showing the 
extent of want, and how it was supplied. Life in itself 
and in its wide bearings, is here displayed, and after a man- 
ner which leaves no question as to what it was, and what 
was done with it. One room was devoted to state carriages, 
and most extraordinary affairs are these. Enormous in size, 
rich and gaudy to the extreme of the ridiculous, — heavy, — 
uncomfortable. The winter carriage is here of Peter the 
First and Great, — Peter Veliki, when a boy, and as every- 
day an affair, that carriage, as any Peter might have driven, 
— and near to it his summer coach. Glass was not in vogue 
much when some of the state equipages were made ; and 
instead of it, large plates of talc supply its place, and answer 
very well. In another room are collected arms of all kinds 
and of all periods. Armour is here ; and kings on horseback 
in full mail. Cannon, muskets, swords, &c. &c., through 
the whole catalogue of means for killing men, or scaring 
them into peace, or of preventing war. As matters of his- 
tory, these are of interest. And here in the midst of so 
much science, and of so much art, used for such strange 
purposes, — here may not one mourn, that in the slow, the 
silent, but sure progress of civilization, a truer and higher 
moral development has not been made, — that when social 
life has been so large a gainer, its better security and hap- 
piness has not been sought in a wider and nobler culture, 
and that to make men happier and better has not been the 
motive and the end of a progressive world ? The better, the 
nicer fork, knife, spoon, have ever had in close company the 
better means of killing, — the keener sword, the more deadly 
cannon, the surer musket. Men have not lost their fear 
of man. Men have no better faith than of old in the 
brother. You stand here in the presence of the great teach- 
ers of history, here in the Kremlin, and feel that the lesson 
is a true one. The theory of society is here in its gross 
material. The harsh and the coarse have driven senti- 
ment wide away, and a vulgar humanity, a conventional 



208 JOURNAL. 

decency, which is the antagonism of the truly great, stands 
here as if to scoff at the progress of man, to deny that in 
the highest and the best, he can be better to-day than he 
was yesterday. Who can be near and breathe the atmos- 
phere through which these remembrances of the past, and 
of the important, are seen, and not feel deeply moved. I 
confess to such feeling, and thus become conscious of that 
endless chain which holds humanity within its divine em- 
brace, and bids the latest ever to be the better, that the best 
may have its advent the sooner, and the love of God, and of 
man, become the habitual function of the human soul. Who 
does not feel the value of such a collection of the material 
of human history ? To no man, and to no age, can it speak 
in vain. 

I should have remembered before, the magnificent stair- 
case of Carrara marble by which you ascend to the Treasury. 
It is of great height, and its vast breadth is spanned by 
steps, or stairs, made each of them of a single piece of this 
exquisite material. It was said to have cost more thousands 
of silver rubles than my poor memory has registered. This 
staircase is much more extraordinary than that of the next 
building, of which I shall speak, — the ISew Palace^ — as if 
in one thing at least the Treasury should excel its modern 
rival. 

The New Palace. — I may as well not speak of this at 
all. No description can be an approach even to the thing 
itself. I went to it with intelligent men, gentlemen and 
scholars ; they had, one of them at least, travelled far, 
and had looked with deep interest and careful study, upon 
the architectural wonders of the rich East. He confessed, 
whilst we were looking upon and expressing our full admi- 
ration of the panorama of Moscow, which was lying in 
such fulness of beauty before us, as we saw it from the 
tower of Ivan Veliki, — John the Great, surnamed the 
Terrible, — he confessed that the panorama of Constanti- 
nople might be thought finer than this one of Moscow, but 



JOURNAL. 209 

that the New Palace M^as without a rival, so far as he was 
capable of comparing with it the richest, rarest specimens of 
regal architecture. This building contains the state apart- 
ments of the Emperor and Empress ; their private apart- 
ments, theatres, and chapels, and the private apartments of 
the Grand Duke, the heir apparent. Here are words, names 
only ; but these in their present connection are in no sense 
things. Public and private apartments are rooms in which 
men live, and in which public business or the affairs of 
public men are transacted. But in such senses are these 
words not used here. 

The Emperor visits Moscow but once a year, in August it 
may be, and then inhabits the Palace. But only as a 
matter of state is this done. His summer residence is 
Peterhoff, near St. Petersburg. His winter Palace is near to 
the Admiralty, in the city. From these are made royal 
progresses to various parts of Russia, or to visit neighbour- 
ing monarchs, — of Austria, Prussia, &c. We go to visit the 
New Palace in Moscow then, as a show-place, as a work of 
art to delight us by its displays of architectural achievements. 
Speaking of the annual imperial visits here, I should have 
added, that at these seasons of festivity and display, the 
wealthy men of Moscow make to the Emperor some present, 
such as their means and position enable them, or claim from 
them to do. These are deposited in the Treasury, and be- 
come new sources of interest to the present and to the 
future time. But I have not yet entered this Palace in the 
truest sense of the word. I remain at the threshold because 
I know not how to advance. You are first in the private 
apartments of the Emperor and Empress. These are receiv- 
ing rooms, sitting, and sleeping apartments, — dining rooms, 
private rooms of the Emperor and Empress, — those which 
attendants of the family occupy, &c., &c. On the same 
floor, in the opposite side of the Palace, are the private 
apartments of the Grand Duke and his family. There is 
one room appropriated especially to the Emperor which 
18* 



210 JOURNAL. 

attracts attention, not so mucli by its ample dimensions, as 
by the great simplicity and appropriateness of its appoint- 
ments, its furniture, &c. This is his Majesty's private 
room, his study, if such an office pertain to such a position. 
No student could desire more entirely comfortable, and 
retired accommodations. The chairs and sofas are covered 
with good substantial Russian leather, and the tables with 
nice green cloth. The change from the elaborateness, 
extreme richness and finish of the other apartments of 
this first floor, so to speak, to the equal appropriateness, 
but simplicity of this single room, at once arrests your 
attention, and you ask whose room is this, to whom or to 
what devoted ? I think the feeling was somewhat general 
of disappointment in regard to these private portions of the 
Palace; not that they are in any true sense private, for 
they are equally objects for the stranger's regard with those 
which he visits afterwards. Not because they are not as 
magnificent as art can make them. But they are not sur- 
prising for their extent, particularly height. You are not 
astonished at their vastness. You do not ask, how could all 
this have been done, and everything appear as if it were 
made at the same moment with every other part, however 
diverse, and still perfectly in harmony ? You do not ask, 
was this created, or was it made ? I took the part of this 
portion of the Palace against my companions. I had seen 
and wondered at the marvellous beauty and power of the 
Palace in Berlin ; yes, had expressed my admiration of the 
White-room or Hall of that royal residence. And with that 
in my mind, I looked at and admired this. The guide 
seemed to have understood the feelings of my companions 
concerning this vast suite of rooms, and drew the curtains 
aside, and took the covering from the chairs, that we might 
see the wealth of fabric which was behind and beneath 
them. The floors and doors inlaid with various w^oods, and 
precious metals, were pointed out. And wonderful are 
these. The joinings were so perfect that you could not but 



JOURNAL. 211 

suppose that the variety in colour or shape was from nature, 
not art, and gave to the whole an individuality which no 
artifice of mere mechanical detail could possibly have pro- 
duced. But with all this you saw that disappointment was 
present ; that something higher and better of the same 
sort had been seen, or that something else had produced 
effects which the equal even could not reproduce. 

We next proceeded up the magnificent staircase to the 
second story of the New Palace. We entered first, Alex- 
ander's Hall. For a moment not a word was said. Vast- 
ness, all the properties of space in perfect proportion, — 
and filled, or presenting such fulness of harmony, that no 
words could convey any sort of notion of what was felt. I 
have stood in the presence of the miracles of nature, which 
became mine by the alchemy of my own spiritual being, — 
which was in harmony with my highest present capacity of 
apprehending the sublime and the beautiful, and have been 
still. I should as soon have thought of talking of my- 
self, as of my other self around me. Something of the 
same feeling possessed me in this space, so filled but not 
oppressed itself, or oppressing those who eyed it, by its 
wonderful presentments. " I am satisfied," was the only 
expression of each of its spectators. Detail at length came 
to the relief of such entire satisfaction. The floor, trodden 
beauty, was first examined. This was in itself so perfect, 
that comparisons were not required or thought of. There 
was some variety in the material, for there was room for 
admixture, without confusion, — of limit, without diminished 
effect. The doors so vast, as fitting the entrance way to 
what they disclosed, but not oppressive by their weight. 
They united some difference of material, but the union was 
so perfect, and colour so harmonious, that they lessened not 
that to which they were added. The walls, vast in extent 
and vast in height, were but the approaches to arches above 
them of consummate beauty in turn, and gorgeous with the 
elaborateness of various and exquisite art. Here again we 



212 JOURNAL. 

had gold and marble uniting their several powers in thfe pro- 
duction of amazing effects. Columns too of the purest surface, 
and of materials so various, or of colours so distinct, that the 
effect would have been disturbed or lost but for the skill 
which had placed them in such true juxtaposition. Chan- 
deliers of gold hung from the middle of the ceiling, and in 
such proportion to the extent to be illuminated, as made 
them pertinent to the whole purposes of their hanging there. 
I said that it seemed as if this whole work had been done 
at once, and that it was not the product of months, of years. 
But it also seemed as if it had been created yesterday, and 
was there in its virgin freshness and beauty, as is that 
flower of night, which in its wonderful power creates the 
day, — the light in which it is seen, — too beautiful to sur- 
vive its birth, and shutting itself up in its own, its fitting 
shroud, with the dawning of the common day. 

We passed to St. George's Hall, the second in the series. 
We say at once that this was no copy of the first, — that it 
even surpassed it, though that seemed and was in itself 
perfect. It was larger than Alexander's, and otherwise got 
this attribute of greater vastness, by an arrangement in the 
simplest of its details, the place in which the chandeliers 
hung. This was between the columns, in deep alcoves, leav- 
ing the lofty arches of the ceiling unobstructed, and seeming 
by its fair proportions to ascend beyond the vision ; or which, 
in such a case, leaves it uncertain where the limits of vision 
are. 

Then St. Andrew's Hall, the last in this Trinity of beauty 
and power ; but so combined were they, though separate, 
and having different functions, as to produce one perfect 
whole. I attempt no detail. There was St. George and 
the Dragon, the emblem of England's power, at the end of 
the hall, high up, almost beyond sight, and of the prevail- 
ing colour, white ; there were columns of malachite, that 
most splendid of all minerals, which can be used in archi- 
tectural effects, with its living green, not disturbing, but 



JOURNAL. 213 

imparting life to that into which it entered as a necessary- 
element. There was the slight furniture, with colours, 
which are appropriated to the objects which they represent, 
those of the flag, for instance, of St. George. There was 
absolutely nothing to diminish the entire simplicity, beauty, 
grandeur, I might almost say the sacredness of the place — 
of the scene. The attention was not for a moment distract- 
ed by the irrelevant, by that which broke the continuity of 
the story which the thing itself told, and which you were 
delighted to hear. -We left the place just in that state 
which such a vision alone can produce, and with a certainty, 
an assurance, that in its revelations of power, human power, 
— art, — you had become more conscious of your own 
nature, of man's power, and had been made better by the 
discovery you had made. 

We now passed to the chapels, of Avhich the Palace con- 
tains more than one, but into which we were not admitted. 
We were permitted to look through the finely grated bronze 
doors or gates, but so feeble was the light within, that very 
little was seen. Our next visits were to the earliest, the 
eldest portions of the Kremlin, the Old Palace, but which is 
in continuity with the New. Here everything was on an. 
entirely new plan. The rooms were small, low, dark, 
loaded with ornament, intense gilding, or fine gold, and 
with the amplest details possible. Here were the state, and 
private, apartments, of the father of Peter the Great, — his 
chapels, — his sleeping room, bed and furniture, precisely 
as they were when he left them forever. His bed was 
small, bedstead perfectly plain, and furniture as slight and 
as simple as that of any of his subjects might have been. 
His son's arrangements and habits, were quite as simple as 
were his, and I was told that the present Emperor has the 
same peculiarities. His bed is of leather, his pillow of 
straw ; his slippers absolutely in rags. They were made, 
I was told, by the Empress, many years ago, and he will 
not have them mended, or new ones substituted. The Em- 



214 JOURNAL. 

press is an invalid, and these slippers were among her last 
needle works. There Avas one room which we reached hy 
ascending some stairs in the Old Palace, which was novel in 
its uses. It is called the " thinking room," is entirely 
without furniture, and hither, as the story goes, the old 
King used to go to think ! This room of thought, is small, 
retired, and remains just as it was when used as stated. In 
one thing only, does the earlier royalty of personal and 
public accommodation resemble the latest. It seems all new, 
as if made but yesterday. It seemed to the people about 
court, that it was due to the Old Palace, that something 
should be done to put it in keeping with its gorgeous neigh- 
bour, and that this might be done in the best way by re- 
newing the old. The process to accomplish this, was to 
re-gild the old walls and ceilings, and to paint anew, but in 
the same colours as before used, the painted portions. So 
at it they went, and no greater failure was perhaps ever 
accomplished. 

In this building a great deal was to be contained in the 
least space. It was in a fortress. It was to be made as 
secure as possible, and all that walls and guns could do, was 
done to render defence as perfect as it could be. In this 
the Palace was, in some sort, placed under the guardianship 
of the fortress, as was the wont, in the early border History 
of Scotland, when the town was built under the Castle 
walls. The thought of the earlier days of the Russian 
Empire is read everywhere in which its remains exist. The 
Old Palace is full of teachings. But this glare and glitter is 
dreadfully out of taste. Its new dress sits wretchedly upon 
it. It declares all its defects, while it offers no reason or 
apology for their existence. How true would it have been to 
the old times, if existing now in the venerable investiture of 
past ages. In St. Petersburg, in the neighbourhood of the 
Admiralty, its most imposing quarter, are to be seen enormous 
figures, designed for statuary. They were placed there by 
Catharine II. of not exceeding " blessed memory." They 



JOUBNAL. 215 

are built of bricks, and are plastered over to give tbem the 
guise of marble, or of something else. The long and searching 
frosts of the Russian winter, crack and break off this strange 
crust, and the bricks again show themselves. The plaster 
is annually renewed ; the figures are made new. The 
fresh plaster is exactly the same with the old, and as Com- 
merce and Neptune were built with the Admiralty which 
they adorn, no present contrast can be instituted between 
the old and the new, the relations between the past and the 
present, are precisely what they have ever been. Nay, 
more, the Admiralty loses its plaster, its stucco, and the 
renewal of these makes all identically the same in their 
history. I have spoken of all this in another connection. 
But there is the Old Palace here in Moscow, in its new 
dress indeed, but with its antique forms and size, the last, 
of the old times, and with the objects for which they 
were made. There stands the New Palace as at its birth, — 
born in the matchless proportions of a perfect maturity, 
bearing everywhere about it the questionless credentials 
of its truth, the assurance of its future in the perfectness 
of its present ! 

We passed out of the walls of Palaces, through massive 
doors, and went directly up the tower of Ivan Veliki, who, 
for half his life, had ruled with moderation, and even kind- 
ness ; but in whom suddenly were developed the elements 
of a cruelty, a barbarity which at once declared themselves 
in acts which leave earlier horrors far, far behind. This 
tower is one hundred and fifty feet high. You ascend in a 
neighbouring building for some height, and then pass by a 
horizontal connecting corridor directly into the tower. 
You ascend only about one hundred feet, and then pass out 
of a place in which large bells are hung, and which in some 
sort surround the tower, and in the spaces between and 
outside of them, you walk round it, and gain a very fine 
view of Moscow, and its surroundings. Like Ancient 
Rome, it stands on seven hills. The surface, for you look 



216 JOUBNAL. 

down upon Moscow, has just that variety which prevents 
uniformity, but does not break continuity ; while the hori- 
zon, made out of forest, hill, plain, massive buildings of the 
finest white, gives you just such a boundary to the whole, 
as it has not before been my lot to look upon. What is 
there in this whole panorama, — for your slow progress 
round the tower presents just that, and all of it, and no 
more, — what is there in this view which so distinguishes it 
from all others ? Look first round and down upon the 
Kremlin itself, the point of departure toward all the rest. 
What is there here ? Splendid buildings, wide unincum- 
bered spaces, churches, with between sixty and seventy min- 
arets, towers, domes, all in the richest gold, the roofs painted 
of richest green, and sparkling with the blaze of light which 
this more than torrid sun, now at high noon, is pouring upon 
them. It would almost seem, without the least exaggera- 
tion, that the absence of night here, accumulates light-rays 
into the sun itself, and that they are daily poured forth in 
the exuberance of their intense aggregation. Slowly does 
the eye pass out of the walls of this palace ground of beauty 
and of splendour, and of power too ; seeing those one thou- 
sand and more of cannon, the stern gainings of a hundred 
wars, — slowly does the eye pass beyond all this, and what 
now is presented ? Moscow, the whole of Moscow. On 
the tower you are in the centre of the wide surrounding 
world before you. Every man sees himself always to be 
the centre of the great circle about him. From this eleva- 
tion, and with so sure a horizon, in such a day, in such an 
atmosphere, you feel your personal centralization after a 
manner of which you may never have, — never been so con- 
scious. In your voyage across the Atlantic to get here, you 
have had ever before you an horizon. But how indefinite, 
how near, — what running together, — what fusion of sky 
and of sea ! Here you are in the midst of obvious realities, 
of questionless things, not one of which but is worthy of 
your vision and your thought. Here is a great city, spread- 



JOUKKAL. 217 

ing itself in a luxury of space, forests almost within its 
walls, making green places to give life, as well as beauty, 
everywhere. Then the Asiatic architecture, the three hun- 
dred or more churches, each with from four to six domes, 
minarets, towers, blazing with gold, mingling without the 
least confusion with the fresh green neighbourhood, or red, 
with which the roofs are painted. Then the distance, the 
back-ground of this splendid, most beautiful panorama, 
made up as we have seen of objects of the deepest interest, 
and producing only the happiest effects, — take all, — the 
whole together, and then for a moment look above it all to 
that divine canopy, which, in its resplendent blue, gives it a 
crowning glory, and if you do not in spirit worship it, you 
will not be as others Avho have given it their willing, their 
most cheerful service. As I looked at all this, I said, yes I 
said aloud, I have come far, far from home, — I have suffered 
with sickness so severe as to make living a burden, — I am a 
stranger, and alone, — but in this presence of beauty, of 
power, of overwhelming wonder, I am more than paid for it 
all. Yes, Moscow has paid for it all. 

I quote from a writer the following, to show how another 
mind was moved by the scene before me. 

" The day was beautiful ; the sun was shining in all its 
brightness, and the sky without a cloud, as we revelled, 
unconscious of the flight of time, in the varied beauties of 
a scene such as no other spot in Europe presents, — not 
even Stamboul, with its Seraglio walk, and the Bosphorus, 
with its light caiques." 

One word more. From this height you look upon the river 
Moskwa, which, at this hour of high noon, is seen "by the 
reflection of its intensely white and bright sunlight, winding 
through the centre of the city, of apparently uniform breadth, 
and so dividing it by a line of light into two distinct por- 
tions. The coloured roofs of the houses, alone seen at this 
height, make a contrast highly favourable for marking the 
course of this fine city river. 
19 



218 JOITENAL. 

You leave tlie Tower and come "back to earth again, to the 
bell, surnamed the Monarch (Tsar Kolokal), with its great 
piece broken out of it by the burning of the building in 
which it was hung, and by the consequent fall which hap- 
pened to it ; — which was cast by the Empress Anne ; said 
to be twenty-five feet high, and three feet thick, at its 
thickest part, but which it may not be, for I carefully 
measured it, where it seemed thickest, with my pocket-rule, 
and found it to be exactly twenty-four inches through, — 
certainly a very great bell. Then we saw, — but I will not 
say what, for the detail of these wonders is of little interest, 

— and in due time approached the Spaskoi, or Holy Gate. 
This gate is not without interest. One story is, that the 
Saint, to whom it is dedicated, or the Tower in which it is, 
delivered the city from a fearful pestilence. Another, that 
the Tartars invaded, and would have destroyed Moscow, 
but for the immediate interposition of the patron saint at 
the gate. A third, that the French troops, when in posses- 
sion of Moscow, approached the Kremlin, and would surely 
have destroyed it ; they stopped at the Holy Gate. Nothing 
could induce them to pass through, — and the Kremlin was 
preserved. Such are the myths concerning this Holy Gate. 
Whatever may be the truth relating to them, this certainly 
is true, that this gate is held in the profoundest veneration 
and awe by all the people. From the Emperor down to the 
most abject subject, this sentiment here always declares 
itself. Nobody passes through this gate, and nobody can 
pass it, nay, come vi^ithin the shadow of the Tower to which 
it belongs, without taking his hat clean off, and carrying it 
in his hand and in silence too, until he has entirely passed 
the sacred precincts. No matter what the season, or what 
the weather, the Holy Gate relaxes not a jot of its demand, 

— and all respond to it. Guards are in waiting, and he 
who is rash, or foolish enough not to respect the national 
faith, and which has such sanctions as has this place, is 
liable to much personal inconvenience, if not something 



JOURNAL. 219 

worse. I passed the Spaskoi more than once, and was not 
negligent concerning what I owed this nation. I had been, 
and was protected by its laws. I was as safe as at my 
home. I had been honoured by the hospitality of its dis- 
tinguished subjects. Why should not I cheerfully do what 
a whole nation did, and did it from the deepest sense of 
duty, and demanded a like service from me, when reverence 
only could be at its foundation with me ; or a desire to make 
some return for the privileges I had been permitted to enjoy ? 
I had just left the perfection of human art, in one of its most 
distinguished manifestations. I had been admitted without 
fee to the most interesting materials of a nation's history ; 
why not do so much as to respect its sentiments, or one of 
them, which has its source and perpetuity in the religious 
nature, and so recognize that nature in a beautiful expression 
of it, and which, as such, could only do me good? An 
English traveller, I am told, resisted this demand of the 
national sentiment, and made himself as uncomfortable and 
ridiculous as any Englishman might wish to be ; and another 
of the same stock would never enter the Kremlin by the 
Holy Gate, for it was his principle not to take oif his hat for 
anything. Speaking of hats, few social and universal cus- 
toms have struck me more than this of taking off hats. It 
occurs at all times, and is not a mere touch, but a veritable 
taking the hat quite off. I stop a man in the street to ask 
my way. I begin by raising my hat; he does the same 
thing at once, and very kindly answers the question. A 
man is leaving you. He raises or takes off the hat. You do 
the same. You cannot tell how universal is this. The 
soldier, — and almost every other man you see is one, — a sol- 
dier, on seeing an officer, and he must look out that he fail 
not, stands facing him till he has passed, with his hand at his 
cap. This seems very strange to one of our people, this 
universal show of respect, when the occasion occurs for it. 
You must not enter any place of resort, and remain covered. 
In a church here, it would be sacrilege ; in a railroad station 



220 JOUKNAL. 

something hardly less. There may be a question about 
the house of God, but there must be none concerning the 
requirements of a house of the Emperor. You do the same 
thing, take off the hat, when you enter a refreshment room 
on the road. Now all this is very right. The only public 
place in which the hat has remained on, is the Exchange. I 
was there yesterday, and all kept on the hat. A funeral 
passes, no matter how humble, the hat is taken off. I did 
this, with my drosky man, the other day, and when I told 
Charles of it, said he, " Sir, you did the man the last honour," 
meaning the greatest. But you say, the drosky man who 
crossed himself, and said some words, probably knew little 
of what he had done. True, but he was conscious of having 
done something, and under circumstances of all others the 
most solemn, — the passage of a fellow being to the grave. 
He had been taught to do it always then ; and he had never 
failed. Such an office simply, must have done something 
for that poor ignorant serf, or mujik, as the Russian labourer 
is also called. It did him good, and if for a moment only, 
it was then good. My respect for the dead also moved him, 
and if I did myself no good by it, I gave the drosky driver 
pleasure by the act, and was not this something ? This 
travelling you see, is a strange business. It helps us to 
understand something, particularly the courtesy of foreign- 
ers to servants, for instance, which we so slightly recog- 
nize, or return, and which abroad is religiously returned. Said 
some one, the man who takes off his hat to another, is by that 
act so much nearer heaven than before. It is an act of 
reverence, and in nothing are we diviner, than in the recogni- 
tion of the divine in others. So much for my sermon on 
the hat. 

On our way home from the Kremlin, we stoppsd at the 
principal restaurant in Moscow, and ordered a Russian 
lunch. It came, and consisted mainly of three dishes ; one, 
was a boiled sturgeon, — not a whole one, dears ; O, no, by no 
means, — and boiled Beluga, a fish, which sometimes, they 



JOURNAL. 221 

said, weiglis two tons, or four thousand pounds ; of this 
too, we only had a hit. Thirdly, a half of a boiled pig. 
Sundry other matters shall be nameless. Now what a 
lunch ! I eat but the least mite of it. It was wretched, — 
boiled pig ! Think what Charles Lamb would have said ? 
To pay for such a feast, and a price which had its amount in 
the celebrity of the house, was almost too much. But it 
Avas paid for as cheerfully as if it were to us as luxurious, 
and as luscious, as doubtless it would have been to the native. 

In the afternoon of the same day we went shopping, — 
three of us. The Oxford Fellow, — the Yorkshire gentle- 
man, — and your humble servant. It was a very pleasant 
business. ' The question was what we should get. The 
Oxford Fellow, not being allowed by his fellowship to have 
wife or children, was in great trouble as to his purchases. 
He concluded to buy some Kesan leather, wrought in flowers 
of gold, for ladies' slippers, as he had some to whom he 
would like to make presents, and we all agreed to buy some 
of a like kind. Then colours of leather and velvet, for we 
bought of both, came up. And as all children, the larger 
and the less, always think what others have is better than 
their own, we went on changing and changing, till we all 
settled down in buying pretty much the same colour, and 
the same work, the wrought gold flowers. You shall see 
mine, if ever you see me, or I escape robbery. What a long 
day that June 22d! — the longest of the year everywhere. 

23^. — I rose early, as usual, dressed for the day, and a 
long one was before me. Hired a drosky for the day, and 
at about nine, left home for the Military Hospital, some two 
or three miles off. I had a letter from Sir James Wiley, 
the medical head of the Military Medical Bureau, to Dr. 
Pfeehl, and was received by him very civilly and kindly. 
He is a very fine looking man, very handsome, of e^vcellent 
form, and most agreeable manner. You would, at the first 
word, have been sure that English was his vernacular. He 
took me over the whole establishment, pointing out in 
19* 



222 JOURNAL. 

every ward, and their name is legion, tlie classes of diseases 
in each, showing particular cases of interest, making this 
altogether a most useful visit. I examined some cases, was 
asked for opinions concerning others, and seemed to be 
again at home. He took me into the insane apartment, 
first asking if I was at all troubled by such people. I told 
him no, but expressed a hope that they would behave well. 
And they did. They kept flying about, but were quite 
harmless. I asked if he had adopted the most modern 
method of treating the insane, by relieving them of all 
restraints, letting them do as they pleased, as far as such 
degree of freedom, as they possessed, allowed. He said he 
could not do so in all cases. He was satisfied that there 
were cases which demanded restraint, or the same thing, 
constant watching, or they would certainly injure them- 
selves or others. I was very much pleased with Dr. Pfeehl's 
treatment of the sick soldiers, and with the other officers of 
the Hospital. In Eussia, authority has all its power. The 
strictest discipline, and the most rigidly enforced obedience, 
are on all sides. In such a department of the public service, 
as a hospital for soldiers, you would look for the same sys- 
tem. And here it was. Every man and boy who was able 
to stand, was on his feet as Dr. Pfsehl approached. It was 
very curious to see that the privileges of disease were here 
laid aside, and, with the exception of not raising the cap, 
for they wore none, all other observances in presence of an 
officer were strictly attended to, when strength permitted. 

When our medical visit was finished, the Dr. asked me to 
visit with him the kitchen. I did, and was never in a 
cleaner, nicer room. Some bread on the table attracted my 
notice, and I found it very good. In walking through the 
grounds, and I found the patients everywhere. Two servants 
came along with a waiter or tray each, nicely covered with 

a napkin. Dr. P at once removed the napkins, and 

ofi'ered me some of the dishes, soup, cutlets, &c. One 
waiter for the officers, the other for the soldiers. He begged 



JOUBNAL. 223 

me to eat some of each. I declined, because some experi- 
ments in unknown food had not resulted successfully with 
me. But he eat of all, with apparently great relish ; in fact 
said the dishes were excellent. This institution is through- 
out in most perfect order. Its neatness quite equalled any 
I have before seen. The walls were high, — the windows 
abundant, — the bathing arrangements ample, and in all 
kinds, — the floors were perfectly clean. The patients had 
good beds, bedding, and dressing or night gowns. The 

only matter in which I diff^ered with Dr. P was, the 

ventilation. This did seem to me less perfect than did 
other matters pertaining to the treatment, and comfort of the 
sick. There were no disagreeable odours, or they were by 
no means striking. But the temperature was to my feeling 
much too high. I recollected how much the whole northern 
races, the Germans in all their ramifications, were lovers of 
heat, — the universal stove in winter, and the care with 
which the winds of heaven were avoided, lest they should 
visit the people's faces too roughly. I remembered the down 
bed-covering, which I met with almost everywhere, and 
which in summer would seem insupportable, and how deep 
the Russian's love was of the schuhe, the sheepskin worn 
with the wool dressed on, and next the skin, at all seasons, 
and the same one for life ; nay, transmitted to heirs, — 
when I recollected this love of heat, this national passion 
for roasting, I ceased to be surprised that the Doctor and I 
did not agree about temperature. He asked me how dis- 
eases of the eyes were treated in America, and especially in 
regard to exposing them to light. I said that a striking 
modification, if not revolution, had taken place in this 
regard, and that light was much more freely admitted than 
formerly. He said he had adopted the same course, and 
found that by it, and especially by out-door exercise, which 
formed a part of the system, eye diseases were much more 
manageable than under a difi'erent system. The exploration 
of pulmonary diseases was very thoroughly made. Imme- 



224 JOURNAL. 

diate auscultation was altogether used, and percussion was 
very faithfully employed. One thing I was especially struck 
with in these examinations, and when made by myself as 
well as by others. I refer to the forcible respiration, and 
especially expiration, practised by the patients. I could not 
but think that it is taught them ; for I have never met 
with any natural breathing which approached it, and the 
degree in which we employ the same thing, the forced 
breathing, amounts to nothing when compared with the 
Russian. The sounds from the cavities, and less tubercular 
lesion, were most distinctive, and the healthy part of the 
lungs told their story after a manner which might be most 
readily understood. Scurvy exists among the soldiers, and 
cases were in the Hospital. Gangrene of the lower extremi- 
ties, both dry and moist, was also here seen. Scrofula in 
its milder and graver forms is frequent. Ophthalmia was 
seen in its extremest degrees, the Egyptian, as named by 
Dr. Pfashl, is among the diseases. A case of amputation 
above the elbow was showed. This man cut off his own 
arm in the first place, to escape the service. It required, 
however, another amputation, and from this he was convales- 
cent when I saw him. He had quite a handsome, striking 
face, and was of full height and size. There were cases of 
Plica, but in the variety of interests, this disease was lost 
sight of, though I had particularly asked to see it. Thus 
was a most instructive forenoon passed, and to Dr. Pfaehl's 
frequent question, if I was not tired, I answered ever, no — 

no. I went everywhere, saw everything. Dr. P speaks 

English perfectly. Few can understand with what entire 
pleasure I heard him, at my introduction, utter himself in 
my mother tongue. It was promise and prophecy of a most 

pleasant visit, and it was such throughout. Dr. P 

gave me a copy of the last report of the cases, numbers, 
kinds, and results for two years, and translated for me the 
Russian into English, giving me in this form a very useful 
statement of the most important statistics of the Hospital. 



JOUKNAL. 225 

I shall alwaj'S remember gratefully the extreme kindness of 
this gentleman, and only regret it may not be in my power 
in any other way to manifest my gratitude. 

At five, p. M., I reached Dr. Fischer's, with whom I had 
engaged to dine, when he made his well- remembered visit 
a day or two before. I found him sitting on the sofa with 
his daughter and a guest. They were eating, or had been 
eating. A dish of small fish was before them on the sofa- 
table, with bread, decanters, &c. They received me most 
kindly, and begged me to sit with them, and join in their 
lunch. I declined, as I knew dinner could not be far off. 
The Doctor now rose, and asked me to go to the library. 
He took my hand and another's arm, and we proceeded to 
the book rooms, on the same floor, and opening out of the 
hall, into which I had been received. This last opened upon 
a very pretty shrubbery, among which were flowers. The 
gate was to the road, and the one at which I had entered. 
It was a retired, and most quiet spot. The passers-by gave 
no annoyance, and, as there was no pavement, the carriage 
noise was not heard. Dr. Fischer attracted my attention to 
an engraving of Lola Montes, and told of her a very charac- 
teristic anecdote. He, President Fischer, had evidently been 
much impressed and pleased with the lady's beauty and 
power. He and his companion pointed out to me many 
objects of interest, and he gave me a copy of a part of a 
work, now in the press, on the Insects of Russia, by himself, 
and a splendid work is it. This part appeared in 1851, and 
his sight has failed since. At length dinner was announced 
in a large room, three rooms ofl" from the library. This 
may give some notion of the houses in parts of Russia. 
They seem often very ordinary afi'airs upon approaching 
them, but within you find most excellent arrangements 
everywhere. High walls, inlaid floors, painted ceilings, very 
large and continuous rooms. The house is not piled up of 
stones, of a couple of rooms, one above another, but has a 
broad, generous foundation, with all the rooms on a floor, you 



226 JOUENAL. 

can possibly desire. Here was this old gentleman, very 
blind and infirm, but with ample accommodation to meet all 
his need. You were glad to feel it was so, and with this 
feeling came a wish, that such arrangements for comfortable, 
yes, luxurious domestic life, or living, were more common. 
We of the new world, think the old world is crowded full, 
seeing how little space the city plot allows for the family 
and its shelter. But no such thing. The old has still 
enough and to spare, while it is we who perish for lack of 
room. Our dinner was abundant and good. First, soup, 
and then fish, — a long white fish, surrounding the ample 
dish, the middle space being filled with shell-fish, closely 
resembling the lobster, but smaller, — prawns ? Then a 
very nice dish indeed, then partridges, with an excellent 
salad, compounded of lettuce and cucumbers, with a most 
tasteful dressing. Then a cream preparation in a foam, like 
hlanc mange, but much better, surrounded with a nice straw- 
berry jelly. Vegetables of the season, — fruits, as oranges, 
&c. Dinner done, Mr. President Fischer rose, had his own 
glass, and those of all the guests, mine among the rest, 
filled with champagne ; and turning to me, as the guest, gave 
me his welcome, and touched my glass wit^ his, then every- 
body at the table did the same thing. I now took my glass 
to the ladies, and they paid me the same compliment, — then 
a generous hip, hurra ! was said, and we took our seats. 
Such is the ancient custom of this ancient state. Such its 
ceremonial hospitality towards me. It was grateful to me, 
this ancient welcome ; who could fail to be touched by it ? 
who, thousands of miles from his own home, had found one 
in this far-off land, for whose visit, friends and distinguished 
men had been gathered in the house of a father of science, 
and for whom old custom had done its kindest offices. I 
could not but rise again from my seat and say a word of 
thanksgiving, for so gracious a welcome. I said " that I 
had come from a great distance, over many thousand miles 
of sea and of land to visit Russia, that I had been protected 



JOUKNAL. 227 

by the laws of his Majesty the Emperor, and had been as 
safe as under my own roof tree ; that I had received the 
hospitalities of some of his most distinguished subjects, and 
that I was grateful for and to both." 

Now, looking backward over the wide ocean, as I often 
do, how do manners, habits, customs, come up in their 
simplest forms, in the absence of all that which gives them 
pertinence, for there is no time for detail ; and how unlike 
is everything in the picture to my present experiences in 
Russia. The distant in space becomes the remote in time ; 
and I am in the domain of history, of the past, and no 
longer in the fresh, the new, the living present of home. I 
look upon all of it as strictly and only objective — the 
external, the distant. It is so. It is the external, the 
outside, the past. It does not belong to my, this Sunday's 
present, with its warm sun flashing from golden tower, and 
gilded minaret, its brightest self, with the toll of thousands 
of bells calling the faithful to prayer and to praise. That 
distant region does not now belong to me. I see it. I 
look towards it. It is away. It is gone, and I shall not 
look upon it again, till I have seen other realms, other skies, 
and have mourned again and again, as I have this day, that 
men ever attempted to build the Tower of Babel, — and that 
this very Sabbath is not a feast of Pentecost, and that one 
of its blessings, — that gift of tongues, is not mine ! 

June 23rf, Wednesday. — We left Moscow this day at 
half past eleven, a. m., and proceeded in the convoy towards 
and to St. Petersburg. It was a dull, rainy, thunder-and- 
lightning sort of a time. A part of it very hot, and in 
perfect harmony with the Russian meteorology, a part of it 
very cold. Nothing can be more entirely dull, stupid, 
wretched, than almost the whole of the road between these 
two Russian capitals. For hundreds of miles there is hard- 
ly any change of surface. There is some change in direc- 
tion, I believe, but only once, of the road, which was forced 
upon the construction, by so deep a morass, that a founda- 



228 JOUKNAL. 

tion, a reliable one, could not be found in it. On, on goes 
the road, — sand, sand, sand, steppe, steppe, steppe, — then 
clay and clay, — then yellow soil, — then red, — the *' old red 
sandstone," I suppose, for he who sees through the atmos- 
phere of railroad progression, must be careful of his geolo- 
gy, of his mineralogy, and of his botany too, for the most 
part, he only thinks he sees. Then the vegetation, the 
forests, ever the same ; miniature pines, or firs, birch, birch, 
birch. Here is the whole face of the country, nothing else 
but occasional willows, and rarer lindens, sometimes a field 
of rye, and anon buckwheat occurs, not for cakes, the last ; 
for it is only used for gruel, and its' stiffer congener, pud- 
ding. The grain fields are divided into beds of different 
widths going through their whole depths. These may 
belong to different proprietors or owners ; the only partitions 
being the narrow foot-paths between them, or they may 
only separate different tillages. You see the same sort of 
arrangement in the fields over much of Germany. It saves 
both expense of fencing and waste of land, and is an expres- 
sion of kindly feeling of confidence, worth all the rest. 
This road is through a new country. It was only opened 
last November, and is not yet finished. There are the 
banks unfinished, though from the number of men employed 
these will soon be completed. It is very important that 
they should be so, as the frost disturbs these cuts very 
much, and the rain washes them. They are finished by 
pavings or brick work, or by sodding, as either may best 
answer the purpose, and by the best means of drainage. In 
the last hundred and fifty miles nearest St. Petersburg, the 
surface having become uneven, and occasionally hilly, con- 
siderably deep cuts have been required for the passage of 
the road. It is a long, most tedious drive of from twenty- 
two hours or more, which might with all ease be done in 
sixteen, and Avhich has been done in much less. But along 
the road, at moderate distances, are refreshment places, and 
here the train stops from five minutes to thirty, as the meal 



JOUKNAIi. 229 

may require, and in this way the inn tax comes to amount to 
something, and the generous appetite for victuals and 
drink, may possibly be satisfied. Altogether this day's 
work is by far the heaviest and worst of all in my foreign 
experience. 

Of the people living along the road, I can say but little. 
Cottages, shantees for workmen, and villages, are met with. 
Nothing can equal them in darkness and in gloom. They 
are boards, logs, mud, thatched or not, as circumstances 
demand, or permit. But however made, they very soon put 
on the same livery, get the same colour. This is not unlike 
to the soil and its products, and a more miserable prospect 
than that presented by a Russian peasant village, I cannot 
well imagine ; nothing living is seen near it, neither man, 
woman, child, cat, nor dog. You now and then see some 
cattle all pressing close upon each other, as if to make some 
sort of society in the general desolation. In a few of the 
cottages you may detect an inch or two of glass, a small 
chimney generally made of wood, a bit of stove funnel, or 
somewhat like that, or simpler than all, a hole in the roof, 
known only to exist by the turf, or other sort of smoke, 
coming out of it. I saw the smoke pouring out of the door 
place. Inside the furniture is slight, but the oven universal. 
This is the daily friend, the perpetual comfort of the Russian 
serf. He loves his sheepskin, his scJiuhe, and deep is his 
love for his oven. In this he cooks, and from it he derives 
warmth, heat, comfort, luxury. In winter he lets the fuel 
burn to a coal, then shakes it well up, and together, shuts 
the chimney flue and the stove door, and for hours and 
hours he gets a most genial warmth without additional fuel, 
and if he lists, he and his lie down to sleep by the side of, 
or upon his faithfuUest friend, the stove. Around the cot- 
tages for families, are smaller ones which are used for stores, 
for barns, for stables, so that when you look at a village 
you may wonder for what these tiny affairs are designed. 
Some of them may be used for the family. I spoke of men 
20 



230 JOURNAL. 

at work on the railroad. These men are not large, and 
certainly did not seem to work with any morbid excess of 
industry. In the hottest part of the day, they rested, and 
in the cool of the long and light evening, I saw them at 
work as late as nine or ten, and later. In preparing the 
steep and high banks for the sods, much earth must be re- 
moved. This is done by small loheellar voids, which, filled 
with earth, are wheeled up the steep banks, upon boards or 
planks, which ascend the banks in a lateral and winding 
direction, so as to make less laborious what seems exceed- 
ingly fatiguing. So large are the gangs of men, and so 
frequently do they occur, that a great deal of earth is re- 
moved very rapidly. At times their numbers seemed so 
great that it was thought they must check each other's pro- 
gress. Their dress is as wild, as various, as strange, as 
wind, work, and rags, could make them. Sometimes heavy 
and better sorted, but ever showing that, for effect, it 
depended more upon accident than design. In countenance 
these royal labourers had but little to boast. It was pinch- 
ed often, and of the deepest brown, made of the hot sun, 
and the terrible cold, as winter or summer served. They 
seemed as patient of condition, whether of suffering, or 
other, as unused minds and listless hearts could manufac- 
ture. I always looked in these men, for what in most men, 
however abject, you may find sometimes. But I saw no 
change, and of smile and laugh I never got the smallest 
specimen. As the carriages passed along, they stopped in 
their work to look at what they saw at least twice every 
day, as if it were looked upon for the first time ; but with 
the same unmoved countenance. It might be a question if 
such were really men, but the flight of the convoy gave no 
time for an answer. 

This account of the Russian labourer applies to a special 
service, the preparation of the banks or sides of railroad cuts 
of great depths, for the masonry which shall surely keep 
them in their places, under circumstances of soil and climate 



JOTJKNAL. 231 

especially fitted to render them insecure. The most careful 
engineering determines what the angle shall be with the 
road, and I may say thousands of men are engaged in the 
accomplishment of the work. I see no rocks, no boulders 
even, but a loose soil which requires constant labour, and 
such degrees of shelving as wdll prevent slides. The labour 
is constant, but of slow accomplishment from the vast 
amount to be done. Hence the appearance and manner of 
the labourer. Nothing can surpass the perfectness and 
beauty of the masonry. Nothing in fortification or in pri- 
vate achievements in this way, in my memory, equals these of 
the St. Petersburg and Moscow Railway, and the same is true 
of the arrangements for conducting water, which rains and 
melting snows demand. Of climate as influencing labour, we 
have here the extremes of heat and cold, and their fullest 
effects upon external appearance in all exposed to them. These 
labourers in nothing are worse off than are such as do like 
work, the construction of railways, elsewhere. The build- 
ings described as occupied by them, are infinitely more com- 
fortable, and necessarily so from the length and severity of 
the winter, than are the American shantees, and the general 
condition of the labourer quite as good. 

Thursday, June 2Uh. — We reached St. Petersburg in 
the middle of the morning, and the rain began to fall. 
After all sorts of rencontres with drosky men, a Jiddle was 
obtained, and with such flight as could be got out of a tired 
and unwilling horse, I reached the " English Quai," and 
felt again at home " in mine inn." Wearied with a sleep- 
less night, and faint for want of food, for I was quite will- 
ing to forego on the road all experiments of eating beyond 
bread and water, I proceeded to breakfast, which was still 
ready on the table, and then to rest in my quiet quarters. 
Here came the consciousness strongly that I had made some 
progress towards home, or rather to regions nearer to that 
same word or thing, than I had known for many days. I 
had been to the farthest point of my v\^anderings in one 



232 jouKiSrAL. 

direction, and this was a very important fact in my foreign 
experiences. I spent the first moments in looking towards 
the future. 

Friday, June 2otli. — This day was devoted to business. I 
called on the Minister to let him know that, as there would 
be no steamer till the next week, I meant to remain in St. 
Petersburg till she sailed, and would receive his despatches 
when they should be prepared ; also a Courier's pass, with my 
man Friday's, — C.'s name inserted. I had forgotten to pro- 
cure a Courier's pass from Mr. Lawrence in London, and so 
had less benefit from the London despatches than I other- 
wise should have had. A Courier's pass permits you to 
carry your luggage on without being examined, at least so 
far as the place is concerned, to which despatches may be 
directed ; and I had mine to Paris. I went to the Hermi- 
tage and left a note requesting permission to visit it, which 
I shall do to-morrow, or- Monday. Also a note to the 
director of the Imperial Library. Also to the Museum of 
the Academy of Sciences. I called on Mr. ^R., and went 
with him to the Exchange, a very handsome building pre- 
sented to the Merchants of St. Petersburg by Alexander. 
Mr. R. invited me to dinner on Saturday, and to visit with 
him, Peterhoff. 

Saturday, June 26tJi. — My first visit this morning was 
to the Church and Convent of St. Alexander Nevskoi, or 
Newsky, the favourite Saint of the Russians, — the Patron 
Saint of St. Petersburg. They were founded by Peter the 
Great. Built in wood in 1712, in stone 1716. The larger 
and present church was built in 1728. Peter, to please the 
people, and to attach them to the new capital, caused the 
bones of the Saint to be brought from the Convent of Goro- 
dichetche on the Wolga, to St. Petersburg, to the new 
Nevskoi Monastery. The story is, that the Saint, indignant 
at this personal disturbance of his bones, went off to the 
Wolga again. He was brought back to St. Petersburg, and 
Peter told the monks if the Saint lefo home again, they 



JOURNAL. 233 

should be answerable for it. The bones have been obedient 
ever since. The Convent has fifty or sixty monks, who 
superintend a classical school, which, in 1836, had eight 
hundred and thirty scholars. It is largely endowed. I 
went to this Church and Convent in the morning. The 
service was proceeding. The chanting by the monks is 
remarkable for its sweetness and its power. It is said to 
be the finest in St. Petersburg. The Church is a noble 
building. Its walls and ceilings are perfectly plain as 
regards colour, being of a cold gray, which suits alike its 
architecture and its office. Its cold marble floor in large 
mosaic, its high arches, its gothic windows, its size, give to 
this Church a character of dignity and solemnity singularly 
imposing. In the altar lie the bones of the saint in a 
shrine of massive silver of exquisite brightness, and weigh- 
ing three thousand two hundred and fifty pounds. The 
coffin is covered with glass, and across it is a white muslin 
edged with lace. The worshippers kneel at this tomb, kiss 
the glass, and wipe away their tears with the rich covering 
lying across the coffin lid. A picture by Raphael Mengs, of 
the Annunciation, is in the altar. 

I said the service was proceeding. The worshippers were 
not many at any one time, but were constantly coming and 
going, and with the deepest reverence performing the solemn 
offices of their Church. The body was bowed to the earth 
at the shrine, and the face pressed to it, and there, and in 
that posture, prayer was oflTe'red. After this service, he or 
she, the richest and the poorest, came to the silver shrine, 
and wept over the remains of the Saint. Each in turn 
raised the laced pall to the face and with it wiped 
away the tears from their eyes. I was j)articularly struck 
by one worshipper. He was a poor Mujik, or serf, in his 
sheepskin schuhe, and as personally unclean, as desolate, and 
miserable looking a man as could well be. He prostrated 
himself, and in his worship was restored again to humanity, 
to human regard, and took his place amongst the best of 
20* 



234 JOURNAL. 

the household of that faith. He came to the altar, — he 
kissed the memorials of the honoured Saint, and he wiped 
away his tears with the splendid pall of that beloved shrine. 
This Church and Cemetery contain the tombs and remains 
of the most distinguished dead. Among them is SouwarofF. 
On a brass tablet, in Russian, is this inscription, and nothing 
more : — 

Here Lies Souwaegfe.'^* 

At one, I left St. Petersburg with Mr. and Mr. B., 

with the last of whom I made my voyage from Stettin to 
Cronstadt, and to whom I owe much for his unremitted ser- 
vices, and proceeded to PeterhofF, a royal summer residence 
some miles down the Neva. This is a noble river, — the 
Neva, — very rapid, and very pure. It pursues its broad and 
unchecked way to the Baltic Sea alway, and so preserves 
itself in perpetual purity. It is the only water used here, 
and is carried about for all domestic purposes. Many indi- 
viduals have offered to supply the city with water, and in 
the greatest abundance, by appropriate water-works, but the 
offer has been always rejected. Others have applied for 
coporate powers to light the city by gas. But their appli- 
cations have not been accepted, so that in the long winter 
nights, very poor lighting is all that can be had, and this for 
only till about twelve midnight, as I was told, the lamps 
being then put out, or go out, as the oil in some way disap- 
pears from them. 

Fear of change . 
Perplexes Monarchs, 

as says Milton. One, however, who has been in Russia, 
would hardly be ready to admit, for a moment, that the per- 
sistency of habits, — institutions, modes of life, &c., had 
fear for its cause in any possible view of it. AVhile the 
sliube lasts, oil and Neva water will continue to give^ the 
people light and drink. I heard it said that the oil was so 

* Commonly spelt Suwaroflf. 



JOURNAL. 235 

early exhausted in tlie lamps in winter, by the natives help- 
ing themselves to it as a highly prized article of food. 

Our steam trip down the Neva, one hour and a half, was 
rough and cold. We have had cold weather here for several 
days, below 60°, the wind north or northeast, and the most 
perfectly dry atmosphere I have ever breathed. The skin 
in such times gets dry, hot, rough, as disagreeable as can be 
well endured ; the hair dry, brittle, uncomfortable ; the 
water, which must be drank, produces great annoyance, so 
that Paul's counsel to Timothy must sometimes be literally 
followed, of taking a "little wine," &c. In St. Petersburg 
Cogniac is preferred, and I am told is both prophylactic 
and remedy. 

Peterhoff is a royal residence, and the story is told here 
everywhere. Our steamer found the royal steam yacht at 
the wharf in her gold and paint, and her nicely dressed 
sailors. Guards in full dress were patrolling everywhere. 
A drosky was soon got, not a royal one, and on we went for 

some few miles to Mr. 's residence. We went through 

grounds, every foot of which was in as exquisite order as 
you ever saw in the very best kept grounds of our beautiful 
Brookliue. The grass in perfect green, and the trees, of 
various names, in most luxuriant condition. But for the 
cold, dry, dusty air, we should have had a drive which my 
experience of such ^vould have left unrivalled. We passed 
cottage and palace. Old Peter the First lives and shines 
here in all sorts of memorials. His •palaces and rural 
places, his stables, grounds, &c., are on every side ; and 
with these whatever of modern, which present want or taste 
demands. I assure you this was a famous drive, and made 
me forget the Summer Islands, and everything of the kind 
I have ever seen. Recollect that this is no miniature affair, 
— a daguerreotype of half an inch diameter, — a level mo- 
notonous thing, which tells its whole story in its first rood. 
0, no ! It fills miles with a variety which never disturbs, 
and with a continuous identity of purpose which never 



236 JOUEKAL. 

wearies. We drove on hard, as these drosky men will do, 
almost shaking one out of the slight seat which is allowed 

the voyager, — we drove on hard, and reached Mr. 's 

place. It is of all affairs the most modest, I would say 
humble, in its approach. I hardly believed it was his resi- 
dence. But you know it might be, or any one's else, as 
soon as you enter. The hall, parlour, dining, tea, servants, 
and retiring room, — all in succession were of ample size, 
handsomely finished, and excellently well furnished. The 
tea room opens by a window to the floor upon lawm and 
flowers, and was as prettily appointed as one could wish. 

It is indeed a nice place. Mr. showed us into a room 

well furnished with water, brushes, &c., that we might free 
ourselves, or rather be freed from the embraces of so much 
dust as had collected upon us since we left the blustering 
cold Neva. In the parlour we were soon joined by Mrs. 

, and a Miss , and in due time by many children. 

Mrs. pleased me much. Female beauty is not exces- 
sive in Germany, Russia, or anywhere else out of England, 

as far as I have seen. Mrs. is from England, and is 

as fair a specimen of real English good looks as I have often 
seen. Her features are small, but full of expression ; mouth, 
teeth, and of course, smile, perfect. Eyes blue, hair brown, 
brow beautifully made ; hair low, as in the antique, and the 
old exquisiteness. Voice singularly pleasing ; rather taller 
and more embonpoint than Venus, but in no approach to 
excess. And then ^ler manner was so good. She made her 
house your own with her first smile ; and you felt at home 
every moment you were in it ; and not a little downcast 

when " farewell " came. Mr. is the most hospitable 

of men, and most freely and cheerfully devotes himself to 
his guests. He had made arrangements to show me Peter- 
hofi" in detail. I felt so perfectly comfortable in my tempo- 
rary but delightful home of his family, that I was more than 
half inclined to keep quiet. I am naturally a little dis- 
posed to rest. I am somewhat lame, and all continuous 



JOUENAL. 237 



and rapid locomotion more or less annoys me. But Mr. 



said I was to see everything. Horses and carriage were in 
preparation. At dinner, in his kindness, he would almost 
demand that I should eat everything as a preparation for 
seeing so much. Well, I was very obedient, and had a most 
rare time. Let me speak of the children. One boy looked 
like his father, and was not a beauty, but well looking 
enough. But the three girls, two at least, and the eldest 
most of all, had beauty enough, either present, or surely to 
come. The blossom no more certainly is the prophecy of 
the fruit, than are certain marks in the human blossom, of 
its future beauty. The girls resemble the mother. A little 
boy, the last, or the neiv corner^ as he was called, was pre- 
sented to me. This little boy has a remarkable head, most 
strikingly resembling the long sugar loaf prolongation of 

Sir Walter Scott's most remarkable head. I told Mr. 

he w^ould most assuredly write novels, and poems. The 
children all gathered around me, and I had all sorts of things 
to say to them. The youngest girl, a strange, odd, bright' 
little wight, did nof at first know what to make of me, but 
she soon found me out, and was principal tenant of one 
knee, as another was of the other, a third of the lap, and so 
on. It was really most pleasant. The dinner was excel- 
lent, — a fine Neva salmon being a most important part of 
it, with all other things, meats, dessert, &c., conformable. 
As soon as the dinner was over, the drosky came round to 
the door, and off* we started to see Peterhoff". 

Peterhoff", I said, is a royal residence, and is of exceeding 
beauty. I spoke of its extent, of its variety in all which 
can make so many miles, and what is on them, attractive in 
all sorts of ways. Its variety is in the manner in which 
such extensive grounds are laid out. It seemed to me a 
perfect labyrinth, and I wondered how Ave got along in, and 
especially how we got out of it. It meets every kind and 
development of taste, and without making a demand on 
your admiration or gratitude, constantly receives both. 



238 JOUEIS-AL. 

There is a great deal in the collection, selection, and pre- 
servation of what is worth in these. A man has done some- 
thing worth doing, and for memory too, who has devoted 
himself, or his leisure from stern and perpetual public, or 
other duty, to his own present gratification of the better in 
himself and in the preparation of what time will make 
more and more perfect for the coming ages. It is a great 
privilege to occupy just such a position as places large 
means in your hands, and at the same time have disposition 
and knowledge or power to make good use of them. Em- 
perors and kings have opportunity for all this, and let us 
say what we may of them in .other regards, we cannot but 
honour them for noble and all worthy undertakings. Do 
not let us be curious about motives, about vanity, selfish- 
ness, &c. &c. Here is what they have done. Here is the 
sure and permanent record of their uses of great opportu- 
nity, and of great power. Here are things for gratitude, 
for reverence, for memory. One thought occurred to me at 
Peterhoff, which has very often been with me of late, and 
especially when looking at truly great public works, which 
have had in view the pleasure and growth of the ages, — 
which are ministering to taste, to culture, in every moment 
of their true uses, — a thought which was with me in my 
beautiful drive over the " Summer Islands," the six exqui- 
site islands on the Neva, connected by the bridges which 
seemed everywhere, — a thought which came in the fullest 
force whilst wandering through the Kremlin, and especially 
when gazing upon all Moscow from the top of Ivan's Tower. 
It was this, that in all pertaining to true life, under whatever 
forms it may be presented, — in all earnest, true, human 
work, there is always associated, and necessarily so, the con- 
sciousness of a remote purpose, which gives to it a propriety, 
a perfect seasonableness, and which satisfies us that it was 
the best use of a royal life, — of a nation's resources. A 
king, or other powerful man, the single representative of a 
great state, and the legitimate source of its whole action, at 



JOUBI^AL. 239 

great cost to the subject, at a cost of the widest energies of 
the whole people, reaching down into the very hearts and 
daily duties of every subject, and apparently for his, the 
king's, own private interests, pleasures or what not, — such 
a man in the midst of everything else, accumulates into the 
state whatever may meet the demands of the highest cul- 
ture, and be a source of pride and pleasure to the lowest, 
and leaves it, not only as a memorial of himself, but of his 
times, and so imperishably connects them and himself with 
the history of his race. He appropriates to himself vast 
territories, — makes palaces, parks, gardens, — sends out his 
agents, buys collections of paintings, statues, libraries, 
objects of curious interest for cabinets, museums, — brings 
from all sorts of climates, animals, plants, birds, and pre- 
pares for them habitations, and artificial temperatures, in 
which they may live and continue their races. The king is 
daily using his vast power, and the means of all his people, 
for such purposes, and apparently for his own gratification, 
and apparently, it may be, the poorest element in his own 
being, and yet if we look at it more nearly, we shall come 
to perceive and admit, that what seemed only the coarse, the 
vulgar, the personal, has really, and in truth, had its main 
interest and argument in that which it daily does for 
others, yes, the humblest subjects of the wide state. In 
other words, the great fact of absolute, questionless compen- 
sation runs through everything, and everywhere. It lies 
beneath, and behind, all real action, and makes beautiful, 
and even venerable, what seemed to have had its whole 
object in that which least deserves such elevated and enno- 
bling regard. 

I see here everywhere, the people taking an interest in 
the objects most worthy their admiration and care. I see 
them making a part in the gorgeous tcm^^le-worship of the 
National Church. I see them with wives and children, either 
in humble conveyances or on foot, in search of objects of 
interest, in close company in the same road with the noblest 



240 joiiKisrAL. 

and the highest. They are at PeterhofF, at the Islands, and 
I found one, yes, apparently a poor man, in the Treasury 
of Moscow, and in its palaces, in the midst of riches, splen- 
dour, beauty, art, science, of which the American at home 
has no notion, and which it is utterly impossible for him, at 
home, ever to have. Said a friend, " These things are done 
for the people. You could not have such power concen- 
trated in a single head, heart, hand, unless it were used for 
something else than itself. It cannot act for itself, without 
reaching to and touching the whole state. This beauty, this 
wide external agency, is not for the one. It is for the all. 
It proceeded from them, and daily and hourly returns to 
them ; yes, returns to them with an interest compounded, of 
all that has been done by such investments of a nation's 
wealth, and by the added value which time, of itself, brings 
with it." This doctrine then, of compensation, comes to 
him who stands in the midst of the works, the accomplish- 
ments of kings, of all great and powerful men, with a force 
which he may have never understood or felt before. Seen 
from a distance, his vi^hole mind is supposed to have been 
occupied with the mere personal uses and results of naked 
power. You see only the external, or rather only get some 
vague, physical notions of such agency. You wonder at 
the toleration of such power, and of its uses, by large peo- 
ples, whole nations, and come to the conclusion, that they 
are tolerated only for peace, for personal safety, for the kind 
or degree of protection which the operation of any system 
of laws, or any forms of government, may secure, — that 
present despotism is better than possible anarchy. Now, 
this is not the whole or the true philosophy of such human 
conditions as these. There is something deeper than all 
this in the mysterious problem of tolerated abuse. The 
solution of it is to be found and looked for in the real, the 
questionless agencies and interests which every man, woman 
and child has, and exerts wherever man and human govern- 
ment are. The king is, after all, but the representative, the 



JOURNAL. 241 

exponent, the complement of the whole state. He is the 
main spring of the vast machinery which is every moment 
in action for the most important purposes. He is the life of 
the state. His is its breath, and in him have they life, 
motion, being. He is never alone. He never works /or, 
for he never works a moment ly himself. I see yonder a 
railway stretching thi'ough hundreds of miles, almost in a 
straight line through the Russian steppes. I see it opening 
up everywhere territory, lands, forests, which, it may be, 
have never before been seen by man. I see thousands of 
men miserably clad indeed, and miserably fed and sheltered, 
labouring in the hot sun through most of the nightless day 
of the north, to complete, make safe and lasting that which 
has cost millions of money, and has used millions of lives. 
I ask why is all this done? Why connect, through such 
means, these remote parts of this wide and unused empire ? 
I am answered, " This road is for the extension and perpe- 
tuity of power. It is a military highway, along which 
armies are to be carried with the wind's flight, anywhere 
and everywhere that the extension and exercise of power 
may demand. It had no public good in its birth, nor will 
it have any in its uses." To me a fallacy runs through the 
whole of such reasoning. That road must secure social 
intercourse. It must reveal individual local interests. It is 
to make men who never before heard, it may be, of each 
other, neighbours, — friends. The intercourse of life, the 
vast exchange, the currency of which is true sentiment, — 
interest in each other, — brotherhood, this and these are 
established, or are to be established, by that road ; and 
so that which, as you say, had its source, its being, only in 
the personal, and for personal advantage, comes to be a sure 
means of the widest national good. We, in America, it is 
said, look at, and labour for the widest liberty. We check 
the general government, or in wiser language, the supreme 
head and power of the state, in everything. We compress 
within the narrowest limits its whole authority. We deny 
21 



242 JOUBNAL. 

tlie theory of supreme government, and never reach to the 
fact. We are safe in our distances from each other, and 
in the fierce pursuit of personal interests, individualism in- 
creases every day. Party is beginning to feel its power in 
disintegrations, splits, unknown before to our political history. 
This begun, who can foresee its end. Power necessarily be- 
comes weaker and weaker, for as it falls more and more into 
different hands, its precise uses become more and more ques- 
tionable, and confusion is everywhere. At length every party, 
or every man even, becomes the country, and the country 
nobody. The result of the whole is seen every day. It de- 
clares itself most in the extremest jealousy, lest one part of 
the nation, some one State, may get an advantage from the 
government, which, in the same way, cannot be enjoyed by 
another. Internal improvements are the daily and hourly 
terrors of the people ; as if it were possible in a great state, 
a true nation, that any improvement, by any possibility of 
chances, could be in any sort or measure limited to the spot in 
which it has been made, — that anything truly good and great 
could, by some monstrous law of political optics, be pre- 
vented from being reflected elsewhere, and everywhere. I 
remember well that the subject of Internal Improvements 
occupied the mind of the profoundest statesman of the land, 
the late Hon. Daniel Webster. His opponents, the nation, 
for a majority makes it what, for the time, it may be, found 
their argument in the want of a constitutional provision for 
such improvements, as if a constitution was bound to con- 
tain the detail of general principles or provisions. All that 
is wanted in the constitution is there. Among the powers 
of Congress is a provision " to regulate commerce among 
the several States," and what more constitutional authority 
can be demanded? The old jealousy remains. When Con- 
gress has used its legitimate power by passing a bill for 
such Improvements, the executive steps in with, I had 
almost said, its impertinent veto, and stops with a dash of a 
pen, or by not using one, what would have blessed the State. 



JOURNAL. 243 

This fact in our political history, — this national jealousy 
and fear, that some one State may get the advantage of all 
others, by an exercise of the supreme power, — prevents all 
such large and comprehensive public arrangements, in which 
the whole would find a common interest, and from which, as 
a centre, there would proceed an influence which would 
bless the whole. There, perhaps, is not under heaven a 
nation which is so little national as America. There are, 
indeed, narrow local interests everywhere, around and in 
behalf of which, cluster the popular feeling of neighbour- 
hood. But such never enlarge thought, or lead to impor- 
tant action. To satisfy a hundred or a thousand, may be 
something. But the very satisfaction of such conditions 
becomes necessarily the limit of individual or of sectional 
power, and true national progress ceases. 

Let the people then give the government the power to 
act on the largest, the most comprehensive scale. Let the 
American nation set at once and seriously about it, that it 
will be the efficient patron of its own intellect, — of its own 
best powers. Let collections of interest of every kind be 
made; yes, in the national and State capitals, and so furnish 
to the whole mind here the means of the best culture. 
There can be no fear of the abuse of such a power, for the 
very culture it secures is ever the surest means of the truest 
safety, and best growth. We have men who, away from us, 
are doing noble works, and are daily adding to the means 
of all Europe for its education and best civilization. Why 
should not the works of such men belong to their own 
country, or enough of them, to say to the ages forever that 
they were ours ? Why should such men leave us, and for- 
ever, in the earliest manifestations of their great powers, 
these exiles of genius, and find their home, their fortune, 
their fame, among strangers, — yes, from Kings, Emperors, 
Queens, upon whom the republic looks as upon the enemies 
of intellectual progress; despots, who, in their so called 
personal, selfish pleasure, find, and have the motive of that 



244 JOFKNAL. 

very patronage which, we have so long withheld, and which 
we seem resolved forever to withhold. It is ridiculous to 
say we are young, and can do no better than we do. We 
are not young, — we were never young. The Pilgrim was 
a man. He was a soldier, — a gentleman, a scholar, a 
Christian. In his voluntary exile he brought with him all 
that was truly his at home. He brought a cultivated intel- 
lect, a brave heart, a good conscience. He came here to 
exercise all these, and in their highest uses, to lay here the 
foundation of a great State. He began his work. He 
formed a government. He made laws. He estalished 
schools. He founded a college. He brought here the 
memory of his home, — of his altar, of his fireside. He 
had generously given all up, to carry forward what he had 
begun here, and which he foresaw would never die. The 
spirit of a noble sacrifice was in the Pilgrim, and he with- 
held nothing which that spirit demanded. Not like the 
current benevolence which carefully avoids trenching upon 
its own means, lest it should feel some of that want which 
it professes to relieve : the Pilgrim's service to state, and to 
individual, necessarily involved sacrifice, and he cheerfully 
made it. I say again, we are not, and we never were, a 
young people. The colony made itself free, and indepen- 
dence and the republic was proclaimed. In what period of 
our history have there been greater and better than those 
who did that work. Washington, Jay, Hamilton, Jefierson, 
Franklin, Madison, Adams, — were not these men ? And who 
in history have greater honour .^ They were true to their 
origin, and preserved, and added to their great inheritance. 
Who have done better than these ? Are not their names 
as household words ? Do we not delight to give them to 
our children, as if this might be an incentive to follow their 
steps ? If this be, what some eff'ect to call it, " Young 
America," it can only be the second childhood of a once 
noble state ; and it is only with the distant future to tell 
what its second manhood may be. 



JOURNAL. 245 

YoiiNG Amekica. — Wliat is Young America? I am 
told it is the " embodiment of the energy, go-aheadedness^ 
of the young men of the States." "And what does it?" 
" It subdues primeval forests, wildernesses. It builds cities 
in prairies, and on the edges of vast lakes, and mighty 
water-courses. It founds colleges, churches, schools ; makes 
governments, &c. &c." But these things are doing, and 
have been done in every moment of the country's history. 
But never was this done by the youthful. The Pilgrim, 
of whom we have just spoken, but cannot say too much, a 
full grown man, not only subdued primeval forests and 
wildernesses, but he subdued the wild beasts, and wilder 
savages, who lived in them. He came here to New 
England in 1620, cleared land, built villages; and towns; 
established churches and schools. He founded Harvard 
College in 1638, just eighteen years after his winter 
landing upon the rock of Plymouth. The Pilgrim was not 
a wanderer, a man of uncertain purpose. He put down his 
foot upon that rock, and firmer than was it, made here an 
everlasting place for kindred men, for kindred hearts, and 
minds. Look at the birth place and birth day of New 
England, and at what it now is, and say who have been its 
heroes. It was in moral power, and its Christian develop- 
ment and energy, that the Pilgrim accomplished his divine 
purposes, and made reverend and holy their lofty accomplish- 
ment. If the young men of this day and country mean to 
follow such a lead, let them in generous, true, and wise 
moral culture, and development, prepare themselves in man- 
hood to labour with their might to subdue the moral wilder- 
ness which has replaced the material, and which the Pilgrim 
subdued. Let them in the strength of moral power, which 
finds in the understanding only its nearest instrument, be 
the teachers of the nation. Let them in the midst of the 
restlessness and love of change in everything belonging to 
public and private life, teach the great lesson that a man may 
be contented with what he has, but never with what he is, — 
21* 



246 JOURNAIi. 

" that the life is more than meat, and the body than raiment," 
— that outward prosperity may have beneath it a moral cor- 
ruption which is fatal alike to individual and life, and to 
national character. To such a Young America, every lover 
of his country and race may say, God speed. 

In Europe, in one of its noblest states, had we our and 
our fathers had their birth place, and patronage, and Eng- 
land dates from the Caesars. With present England we 
have a common origin, a common language, a common 
literature. We have inherited her laws, her customs, and 
hers are our interests. We should feel all this, and cease to 
live upon the second-hand and second-rate of Europe. We 
should keep our best at home, and command pilgrimages 
homeward, instead of yearly and hourly sending our own 
and best on pilgrimages elsewhere. A true state is the 
patron of its own genius. Why then should we neglect a 
duty which we are able to perform ? 

I am aware of the nature of our governments, for we 
have many. I know that such governments are unfavourable 
to such centralization as shall secure the public interest to 
objects, or to an object, however important. Still, with this 
admission, there is no necessary obstacle in the way to any 
such effort. This country, like the individual, fails solely 
because it wants purpose, — will. It does not want power. 
It secures to useful, mechanic art, that which has placed in 
its hands the fortunes, not only of the individual, but of the 
nation. To be sure such patronage is in itself individual, 
and a reward for what is mainly physical. It secures to the 
discoverer his whole interests in his discovery, and leaves it 
with him to say precisely upon what terms it shall benefit 
the state. Genius, on the other hand, is a republic in its 
whole life. It makes him who has it a sovereign indeed ; 
whose throne may never be disturbed. But all that it 
accomplishes is ultimately for the public benefit, culture, 
pleasure. It admits everybody into the closest communion 
with itself through its works ; and has its exceeding reward 



JOURNAL. 247 

in the pleasure, the civilization it so widely promotes and 
dispenses. It asks of the state protection, patronage, that 
it may do what shall command both. It asks that its works 
may be collected in permanent homes, — that it may come 
into the presence of its own best ; and more especially of 
the best of all others. It asks that the state would in this 
way preserve the most valuable contributions to its own 
history, for through them will ever speak the public heart, 
and the public mind. Refinement and growth, sentiment 
and principle, are the expression of genius, — the language 
which it utters. Thorwaldsen has made his own birth-place 
and nation, the residuary legatee of his great genius. His 
native city, Copenhagen, the capital of a state numbering 
only two millions, has a name and a place with the largest, 
in his gift of so many of his works to it ; and who that has 
any love of the highest and the best in human works, will 
not stop on his way through the stormy Baltic, to give a 
day or an hour to see, to admire, and to be made better, by 
works of such transcendent excellence and power so rever- 
entially, so lovingly placed there ? We are to begin this 
great national duty some time. We are to enter seriously 
and wisely upon these labours. We are to find our name 
and our place in God's universe, by what we may do to illus- 
trate its highest human manifestation, human power. We are 
to do it by the external indeed, but it must not be an exter- 
nal which ministers only or mainly to the physical. Dante 
knew the daily misery of ascending another man's stairs 
for bread. But genius will ever make the sacrifices, which 
its highest exercises may demand. It will, however, only 
do it when in prophetic vision of the deep reverence and 
love of the coming ages, it sees beforehand, that, if it now 
want bread, it is sure of immortality. 

I have spoken of PeterhofF as it appears to you in driving 
through its broad avenues, its shady by-ways, its long and 
seemingly endless roads. Great skill has been used in 
giving to its surface as much of variety, as such a place 



248 JOURNAL. 

demands, and yet to leave the impression that the whole is 
as it was originally made, and that art has only been used 
to unfold its treasures, simply by allomng itself to tell its 
own story. Now the truth is, that the whole region, Peter- 
hofF as it is, is the product of art. It was once a morass, a 
dead level, which was utterly worthless. And it has been 
made what it is by creating hills here, and leaving lakes 
there. The useless soil has been scooped clean out, and 
carried where a hill was thought to be wanted. And there 
a dyke has been made and a large reservoir left by the 
removal of the earth by which it has been constructed, and 
which reservoir shows now as a fair lake. You see by this 
just what Peterhoff is. And whether the hill is in a good 
place or not, can hardly be well argued, seeing that groves 
and forests, and all sorts of additions in buildings, &c., 
have been just so interposed everywhere, as to leave but 
little chance of your doing other than admire, or at least to 
be satisfied with them. There is St. Petersburg, once on 
a fair level with Peterhoff, before there was a Peter ; and 
who now would dream that it was once as nothing when 
compared with its present magnificence ? It is now a great 
city of five hundred thousand inhabitants or more, and is 
full of famous palaces and great houses, of hospitals, 
churches, markets, everything, in short, designed for impor- 
tant purposes, and everything accomplishing its design. In 
1824, Nov. 7, the river rose suddenly so as to submerge the 
city everywhere, in some places to the height of twelve 
feet. Great was the destruction of life, fifteen thousand, 
and of all sorts of property, and especially of the destructi- 
ble means of living. So great was this that the Emperor 
Alexander allowed for a year full and free importation of 
all articles of consumption which had been destroyed by the 
flood, and thus was greatly diminished a most threatening 
evil. The Neva is one of the rapid rivers of Europe. The 
Rhine comes rushing down from its Alpine home, passing 
unmixed through the waters of a lake, and keeps unchecked 



JOUHNAL. 249 

till it finds its way into the waters of the wide sea. I have 
stood upon the banks of this mighty stream, not waiting for 
it to pass by indeed, but on account of the deep interest 
which such rapid rushes, almost gushes, of great masses of 
water always produce. I sometimes ask what might be the 
effect of this river in its terrible power carrying everything 
for the moment before it, — yes, bodily seizing upon, and 
destroying that which, for an instant, obstructed its head- 
long progress, and carrying away houses, soil, tree, every- 
thing away with it. The Neva has its power in its quantity 
as well as in its rapid motion. And this latter you judge 
of, more by the motion of things on its surface, vessels and 
boats, than by the apparent movement of its waters. The 
Rhine, and so to the Elbe, at least when I was upon them, 
were discoloured by the mud which was mixed so largely 
with them. This discolouration with the broken or uneven 
surface of the chafed rivers, enabled you, in some sense, to 
measure their rapidity. The Neva has its source in a large 
lake, the Ladoga, a lake of many, many miles in breadth, 
and the river is about fifty miles in length, before it passes 
St. Petersburg. It is perfectly clear, and its dark, heavy 
waters become resplendent beneath the bright, hot sun. Its 
rapidity depends on a series of falls about half way between 
Ladoga and St. Petersburg. The river grows rapidly wider 
below the city, and passes Peterhoff in grand masses. It 
rushes on and far into the Baltic, as fresh as when it entered 
it, until it is lost in the salt sea. You cannot but be struck, 
deeply impressed with such histories, and feel glad that you 
have stood upon fair land, and in populous cities, where 
once, and that not long ago, a great lake, and a wide rapid 
river had at will, free, and wide passage, and full play. 

Speaking of water here, is of all things the most natural, 
when the subject is Peterhoff. This place owes its power 
to land and water, and different observers will apportion the 
amount of power between them differently. The water, I 
think, will carry the palm with the million, as what it does 



250 JOUENAL. 

in the scene before us is so obvious, and so beautiful, tbat its 
demand is made too distinctly to be neglected. This water, 
in its amount truly vast, is brought about twenty miles in 
enormous pipes from hills which are high enough to give it 
in the lowlands of Peterhoff great head or power. And 
this is set forth in every variety of manner. Rome was 
called the city of fountains, and numbered more than three 
thousand. Peterhoff may be also called a place of fountains, 
whose number, who can tell ? You pass along whole reaches, 
the sides of which are streaming with water from the never- 
ending fountains. Lakes are formed, and from different 
parts of them, fountains gush from all sorts of sources, ani- 
mal, mineral, and what not, at least in form and appearance, 
with as little regard to source as possible. There is a gi- 
gantic Samson, in full gilding, forcing open the tremendous 
jaws of a golden lion, and from which springs a fountain 
high in the air. And yonder, as you walk in a grove, or 
sit down on a bench under a tree for shade, and for rest, in 
an instant the tree becomes a fountain from every twig and 
leaf of it, and covers you with its cloud of misty spray. 
You feel yourself in a fairy land, over which the fair Undine 
has empire, and true to her nature and her gift, she dispenses 
her blessings, her smiles, and her tears, on every side. The 
water sometimes has other forms. It comes rushing down 
rocks over wide and deep marble steps laid in large squares 
of black and white. Now it tumbles as a fall, and now 
rising as a pyramid of exquisite form and fair size, it is broken 
into a dense but silvery white cloud, and in its perfect 
silence, asks for your passing regard. The occasional gro- 
tesqueness incident to water appropriations or uses, are here 
in abundance, and may sometimes be questionable as matters 
of severe, rigorous taste. But when we come into such 
regions, we may safely dispense with rules, for awhile, and 
laugh and be serious to the occasion. Here are arrange- 
ments for the interests of childhood, and of infancy. Ducks 
and other water things, are floating about, making all sorts 



JOURNAL. 251 

of imitations by means of their structure, and the move- 
ments of water in and out of them, of their natural voices 
or languages. 

PeterhofF is the product of a single mind, but suited to 
sorts of minds, tastes, ages, whims, to give pleasure to great 
numbers; in short, is large, various, and full enough to 
meet the whole demand. It is of such great extent that 
fetes are given here, which the whole people may witness. 
Here are illuminations of water courses so intense and per- 
fect, that the discordant elements of fire and water seem to 
have forgotten their old ways, and flow, and gleam, and 
burn in close and harmonious company. One of these fetes 
will " come off" 13th of July, and I am sorry that I shall 
not be able to witness it. I have stood on the very spot 
where this part of the great drama of show will be acted, 
and could understand somewhat of the effects produced here 
by fire and water. To me, as I have said before, much of 
the interest of this and the like arrangements for the per- 
sonal, the individual, is derived from the equally well 
established fact, that all may partake in the same. A pub- 
lic carriage, a drosky, for instance, without company may 
not be admitted into the gates. But the passenger so far 
sanctifies it, and no matter who that passenger may be, that 
so ordinary mode of conveyance is admitted without ques- 
tion. Nay, private families, who hire a house for the sum- 
mer, are as much at home at Peterhoff, as the descendants 
of him who has piled it up out of the waters. This is all 
right. It leaves men in the enjoyment of the air and of 
the light, the water too, and which are the common proper- 
ty of all. If the spectator is in perfect sympathy ^vith that 
which is around him, it becomes his own property, and he 
may have a deeper interest in it, a truer possession, than has 
he, who has it from ancestry, and by the tenure of a written 
rr unwritten law. I have no details to give of places, or of 
objects. I write to give form and place to that which has 
>een produced within me by such portions of the outer 



252 JOUKNAL. 

-vyorld here, as had in them anything more or less to im- 
press my higher nature. I was in the midst of a beautiful 
world, and looked round to see what had been done with 
it by man, to give to the divine in that nature the better 
part of the human. 

A rapid drive brought me to the hospitable house of my 
new-made friends, and so pleasant was the time, and so 
light the evening, it was, to my extreme surprise, past mid- 
night when we reached St. Petersburg ; and to my dismay, 
the bridge's draw was up for the night, for the passage of 
the river craft, which is not allowed to pass it any other 
time through the twenty-four hours. I was utterly tired 
out by walking and driving, and to foot it seemed the only 
way to get to the other side of the Neva ; namely, by a dis- 
tant bridge higher up. But I went down the river, and at 
length took a boat which ferried me across. A long street 
was before me, and the English Hotel seemed at an inter- 
minable distance. I, however, arrived safely, and about 
sunrise went to bed. I spoke just now of the light of the 
evening I passed in Peterhoff. This light of the Russian 
summer-night never more strongly impressed me. The 
moon was full and in mid-heaven, when, on the bank of the 
Neva, I looked at it. But so brilliant was the twilight, 
reaching to and illuminating the sky over head quite as 
much as the horizon, — a striking peculiarity to the Northern 
summer, — that the moon had lost its brightness. It cast no 
shadow, and looked as a round white spot in the mid- 
heaven. 

Sunday^ June 27. — Sufficiently fatigued wdth yesterday's 
experiences, I rested to-day. I called on Sir James Wiley 
to thank him for his letters to Moscow, and for the exceed- 
ing kindness and courtesy to which they had introduced me, 
and learned from his servant, his porter, I suppose, for he 
has many servants, that Sir James did not receive calls that 
morning. I kept within doors till five, and then walked 
with Charles to the Minister's, with whom I had engaged to 



JOURNAL. 253 

dine that day. It was a party of four, himself, Secretary of 

Legation, Major , Chief Engineer of the Moscow and 

St. Petersburg Railroad, and myself, and I had a most 
pleasant time. 

Hekmitage. Monday, June 28th, — Everybody goes to 
the Hermitage. A note from me to the Director, " most 
respectfully asking permission " to visit it, procured me this 
privilege, which is as freely accorded to all. A dress-coat 
is an indispensable condition of this visit. The Hermitage 
is strictly a show-place. He or she who has the most plen- 
tiful supply of curiosity is pretty sure to see the most. 
NoAv I think I can have but a small portion of this mental 
quality, so necessary to make a good traveller. It is always 
an effort for me to go sight-seeing. I feel under great ob- 
ligations to many friendly persons I have met with for their 
kind solicitings, that I would join their parties to the curi- 
ous, the beautiful, the sublime. In this way I have seen 
some things, which otherwise I might never have known any- 
thing of. My courier has travelled, and for years, and with 
nobles and gentry, at least so say his letters of recomenda- 
tion, the authenticity of which I have never questioned, — 
my courier cannot understand me, that I should be so slow 
in my search for the wonderful. He has often to entice me 
out " of mine inn," as with a pitchfork, and comes as near 
right down scolding as becomes his years and his position ; 
so if I do not tell you the exact history of every spot of 
wide Europe I have trodden, do not, I pray you, charge it 
upon my faithful guide, the courier. 

The Hermitage is in immediate proximity to the Winter 
Palace, and whenever the Emperor is absent from St. Peters- 
burg, they may be seen together. His banner was " on the 
outer wall," yesterday, Monday, so I was limited in my 
explorations to the Hermitage. You go up by splendid 
marble stairs to the rooms you may visit. Magnificent 
columns of the granite of Siberia, polished almost to daz- 
zling, are on both sides. You enter rooms filled with pic- 
22 



254 JOURNAL. 

tures, wMcli, in 1839, numbered fifteen hundred, and tliey 
have been added to every year since. The rooms are num- 
bered, and contain the works of the various schools of art. 
Some rooms are filled with the works of one author. Three 
pictures of Titian, as in my catalogue " marked down," par- 
ticularly pleased me, and because of their exquisite beauty. 
They are in the same room, and the subject is the same. 
They differ mainly in some unimportant details. It was 
refreshing to pass from the barbarous works of Snyders, his 
Boar Hunts, &c., to anything approaching the human. 
And these pictures, whether by Titian or not, were certainly 
related to that. By one of those coincidences which happen 
most frequently in the experiences of travellers, in one of 
my visits the day after the Hermitage, I saw, where I was 
visiting, a woman who so nearly resembled the person in 
the three pictures, that I was almost startled at my first 
glance at her, and I was careful in the rest of my visit, or 
when opportunity served, to assertain how correct was my 
first impression, and the evidence was not diminished by 
after observation. This business of tracing likenesses in 
distant countries between the well known and the latest 
seen, — the foreign, and the home, is a very common one. 
I remember in my first visit to London, forty-three years 
since, being not unfrequently occupied in this way, and very 
often was I surprised by the result of my explorations. 

In the Hermitage, I was in the presence of pictures num- 
bered by thousands, and claiming not only to be of certain 
schools, but set down as questionless works of the best 
artists the world has ever seen. Here were Raphaels, 
Claudes, Correggios, Salvators, Titians, Murillos, Poussins, 
&c., as common as household words ; and then Teniers, 
Bembrandt, Rubens, Wouvermans, Vanderveldt, Ostade, P. 
Potter, would seem only to have painted for the Hermitage. 
There were here besides pictures, things of great interest. 
Here were splendid vases of most precious stones worked 
after a manner to give you form and material, in their finest 



JOURNAL. 255 

expression. Malachite, jasper, porphyry, granite, how rich, 
how exquisitely beautiful were they. I was almost as 
much moved by the vastness, — the great size of these, — as 
by their beauty. Nature seemed to have brought forth in 
almost wasteful profusion, that which in its rarity in other 
regions, and the smallness of its masses, acquires such value, 
as to be the possession of a few only, and which is pre- 
served with a care which few other things know. What 
can surpass the Mosaics in wood and in mineral, which are 
here beneath your feet, and on every hand ? The Palace 
Halls, which have been made to receive and preserve such 
treasures, are in size fitting their important office, and of 
this you may have some apprehension. There has often 
been, indeed, too little care in the arrangement of light for 
pictures. The pictures are for the most part in long rooms 
on one side, and the staring, level windows are directly 
opposite, making it sometimes next to impossible to see the 
pictures at all. But the increase of paintings has forced a 
compensation by which the later additions may be seen. 
This consists in an alcove arrangement, which allows the light 
to fall equally on the pictures on both sides of the projec- 
tions which form the alcoves, and by a little adjustment of 
position you may see somewhat. Why a picture gallery of 
such extent, containing so many admirable works, should 
have been so constructed as often to leave it a matter of in- 
difference, whether you see the canvas at all, must be left 
for the thought of future travellers. To some lovers of art, 
the want of a catalogue may be a grievance, but as such an 
accommodation would shed no light on its subjects, it is 
hardly worth the missing. Suppose for a moment, that the 
portion of the Hermitage devoted to art had been thrown 
into one vast gallery, with its light coming fresh into it from 
above, — a light from heaven, revealing the divine of human 
work, how surpassing had been the beauty, and into what 
good and happy hearts would it not have found its way ? 
All men may have the apprehension of the true, of the 



256 JOUEIS-AL. 

beautiful. How easy is it to hide it all ? What can be 
more vexatious than this carelessness in the construction of 
picture galleries ? In such, you are in the conflict of cross 
lights, and objects come to the eye in all the confusion which 
such a battle, by the sure laws of optics, must inevitably 
jDroduce. And then you are dazzled by the strong and 
swift reilection ; not a ray is absorbed, but each and all come 
back with an increment from the wild investment, which is 
absolutely fatal to vision, — nothing but loss to the beholder. 
You are in pursuit of some point of a painting, for you can 
see it only by instalments ; you twist your head hither and 
thither, thinking now you have caught a head, when it will 
turn out you have only a nose, or an eyebrow, and after 
you have worked the longest and tried your best, you 
may have the satisfaction of learning that you have got 
nothing but a crick in the neck. It is bad taste to orna- 
ment a picture gallery, to cover its walls and ceilings with 
rich hanging, or elaborate architecture. Green baize or 
broad cloth answers best, for they reflect no light. Never 
polish the floors. Let everything be in the strictest subser- 
viency to art. Let this only have a voice, and its word may 
always be heard. The Hermitage speaks. Is not Art there 
well nigh dumb ? 

Museum of the Academy oe Scie]s"ces. The skeleton 
of the Siberian Mammoth, before alluded to, which was 
discovered on the banks of the Lena, is here, and im- 
mediately after leaving the Hermitage, I drove to see it. 
It stands very near to a large elephant, and you are at 
once struck with its great size as compared with its neigh- 
bour. Many other specimens in Natural History are in this 
Museum, but the object of principal interest is the 
Siberian Mammoth. Questions have arisen as to the man- 
ner of its preservation, how it got where it was found, 
when it reached its resting place there, whence it came, 
&c. &c. As to its preservation, there need be but little 
question, since Russia presents abundant proof constantly 



JOUKNAL. 257 

of the preservative power of cold. The market is daily 
supplied with meats of all kinds in a frozen state. The 
animals, I was told, were killed and frozen in the first frost, 
or as early as the cold admits ; and are in the market in this 
state throughout the remainder of the year. The table in 
the English House (English Q,uai), kept by Mrs. Benson, is 
every day supplied with game, &c., which was frozen last 
autumn, or in early winter. I write July 1st, and can say, 
that these articles of food form the most important part of 
the culinary arrangements of this most excellent house. 
This food was singularly well flavoured, and excellent in all 
its kinds. Poultry especially had this character, being quite 
as fat and juicy as the very best of our own winter supplies. 
Madame B. one day, turning to me said, " Do you find the 
turkey good, and can you for a moment believe, that it has 
been killed for months ? " Having expressed my entire 
satisfaction with both turkey and cookery, I was led to ask 
some account of the manner of preserving the food for a 
great capital for months, nay a year, after its having been 
killed. I was told that the killing takes place the first 
frost, for this is ordinarily sufficiently powerful to freeze 
thoroughly what is properly exposed to its power. Dead 
flesh is in the best state for this influence ; and it matters 
not at all what is the bulk and weight of the animal, so 
that it be duly frozen. An essential condition of its being 
well preserved, and afterwards fit for the table, is, that it 
should be frozen as soon as killed, or before it is cold. If 
otherwise, however well it might seem, and fitted for cookery, 
it will turn out, upon being thawed and cooked, quite 
worthless. Again, I was told, that should a thaw ensue 
after the first frost, and market freezings, and the animals 
should be thawed, and frozen again, they would be found 
ruined for the market, passing at once into decomposition 
upon being again thawed. Thus I heard, that after the 
autumnal killing, and freezing, a thaw had occurred. The 
frozen flesh was thawed with other things, but ^g^in frozen, 
22* 



258 JOURNAL. 

It was found unfit for the market, and the Emperor ordered 
it to be buried. This was done. It was dug up, frozen 
again, and again exposed in the market. The Emperor 
now ordered it to be burned. This was done, and the bad 
meat appeared no more in the market. I give the state- 
ment here just as it was made. I can answer for the excel- 
lence of Madame B's. table, and when we recollect the vast 
distances from which food is to be brought to the markets 
of Russian capitals, and the great heat of the Northern 
summer, we can see a reason for such a mode of supplying 
the markets. Especially are we aided by the amount of ice 
which is made by the long Northern winter, and by the ease 
with which it may be applied to the purpose above alluded 
to. 

Alexandrosky. — A very pleasant dinner party here at 
Major B.'s, five or six miles from the city. I went with 
Hon. Mr. Brown, American Minister. Mr. W , Sec- 
retary of Legation, took Mr. Kremer, an attache, with him. 
Major B., you recollect, succeeded Major Whistler, as Chief 
Engineer of the Moscow Railroad. The road was opened 
in November last. Much, however, remains to be done, 
before it is completed. Major W. died of the cholera, when 
the road was but half finished. He is said to have been 
singularly pleasing, of excellent intellect, of peculiarly at- 
tractive manner, and of fine person. He was a favourite of 
the Emperor, and was treated by him with great kindness. 
Said one to me, " Nobody can succeed Major Whistler." 
Major Brown is engaged for six years, at twelve thousand 
dollars a year ; has put the road in running order, and is 
finishing the important parts of that great undertaking. He 
is very agreeable, well informed, and exceedingly hospitable. 
I could not easily forget his kindness, and that of his family 
to me, if I would ; and certainly, I have no disposition to do 
so. Our dinner was excellent, meats and vegetables cooked 
as at home, and the fruit was as fine as could be wished. 
There was a guest at table of whom I would speak. Major 



JOURNAL. 259 

B. passes the summer in a house, on this estate, or in a vil- 
lage, in which a great public work is carried on, — the 
building, and repairing, railway engines and carriages, or 
cars, which are run on the Moscow railroad. The principal 

in this great work is Mr. W , of Baltimore. He 

has for his use a whole village, numbering between two 
and three thousand persons. These he employs, — a mixed 
population of men, women and children, — as they are able 
to be employed. He supports them, I think. He has a 
contract with the Emperor for twelve years, and he is to 
make all the running materiel of this great road, about 
seven hundred versts, or between four and five hundred 
miles long, and to keep it in repair, making new engines, 
and carriages, when necessary, so that at the end of the 
twelve years, everything shall be left as good as new. This 
is called a remount. He began, I was told, by borrowing a 
very lage sum to begin with. And now what do you 
suppose are the terms upon which this amount of outlay in 
money and work is employed ? Mr. W. receives so many 
copecks, less than two cents each, for every mile run by 
every first class carriage, less for second class, less for a 
third class, and freight train, and for every carriage in each, 
in every day. The number of copecks, say ten, if that be 
the number, for the highest class, and by a gradual reduction 
coming down, say to five for the lowest, is so small, that I 
was astonished at the contract. And yet, I was told, it is 
producing a fair revenue to the contractor. A road is 
building, or to be begun, to Warsaw, and I was told that 
Mr. W. has already, or vv'ill have, the contract for the run- 
ning apparatus for that. I have also heard that a second or 
night train was to be, or is started, on the Moscow road. 
It was not, however, begun when I passed last over it. 
Mr. W. has now carried on this work since November 
last, when the road was opened, and the result thus far 
shows that his contract was a safe one. 

This system of remounting exists in the Cavalry service of 



260 JOURNAL. 

Russia. The Colonel of a regiment finds horses, keeps them 
in perfect health and discipline, replaces sick or dead ones, for 
a limited time, six years, and when the time of the contract 
is up, the horses are to be in good health, and capable of all 
service. This is done for a certain amount, paid at specified 
times for every horse, in health, and for his service. Sup- 
pose a horse dies at the end of five years. The Colonel buys 
a new one, but if he is perfectly well when the term of the 
remount is up, and the contract is not renewed to him, then 
one year only of the health or life of the animal belongs to 
the service, his value for the five other years is to be made 
good to him. Mr. W. wore a decoration, or a Cross of 
Honour, from the Emperor, at his button hole, and good 
evidence is this of the friendly disposition of the Emperor 
towards him. 

After dinner we walked about the grounds. Mrs. B , 

a townswoman of mine, talked with me a long time of the 
old Newport life, in which we bore somewhat a part. She 
was daughter of a very excellent physician in that town. 

Mrs. B had lived there many years after I left it, and had 

much novel matter to talk of. I had a really good old- 
fashioned time. "We stayed late, though it was as light as 
day almost, and when Mr. Brown, the Minister, and I, were 
getting into his carriage, he told his Jehu, — for he drove like 
one, as do all St. Petersburg drivers, — he told him he 
would get out before reaching his residence for a walk, and 
that he must drive me home before taking the carriage to 
his place. Off we went. But the driver knew, or recollect- 
ed nothing of my residence, and went galloping about 
town to his heart's content, and to my dismay. I looked 
for nothing less nor more, than to be made up into a Peter 
E,ugg, and to go galloping about Russia to the end of 
time. He stopped at a door at last; it was not mine. 
I drew the string and told him where to go. He understood 
not a word, and talked in good round Russian about as fast 
as I did, or could, in my vernacular. So amid the general 



JOimNAL. 261 

screaming, somebody hard by heard me say Galerney, 
the name of a street parallel to the English Qiiai. He 
screamed out what he had heard me say. The coachman 
heard, understood, turned fairly round, and galloped me 
home. I assure you it was no joke for me ; for the crea- 
ture would not let me leave the coach to walk home, but 
made me sit still through his drivership's pleasure. He was 
rejoiced to leave me safe, for his place depends entirely on 
his faithful attendance to his duty. 

Hospitals. Tuesday, June 29. — I visited three mili- 
tary, one civil, and one maternite, establishments. These 
visits were highly gratifying. Two of the military were Regi- 
mental Hospitals. A regiment contains three thousand men, 
all included, and to one such, a hospital is often, or for the 
most part, devoted, and contains about one hundred and 
twenty beds. One hospital was for two regiments, or six 
thousand men, and the number of beds was about two hun- 
dred and fifty. There is attached to each hospital a church. 
I visited some of these. They are exceedingly well adapted 
for their purposes. Of ample size, simple but noble archi- 
tecture, and upon the whole, I think, altogether in better 
taste than some similar buildings in the metropolis. I was 
desired to pass across the chancel of one of these churches, 
and across the altar to the rear, and my way was through a 
gate. Said my most friendly and obliging attendant, a Sur- 
geon Major of his regiment, with the rank of Colonel, " a 
woman is never permitted to pass beyond, or through that 
gate." On what this prohibition depends I know not ; but 
I have heard of, or met with the same rule in other churches, 
I think. Beside the churches which a.re in the neigh- 
bourhood of the hospitals, there is in all of them a chapel, 
w^iich the patients attend, if too ill to go to the church. 
In this way every necessary opportunity is afforded for 
very important offices, — the service of the church- worship, 
— and in circumstances when religious instruction and con- 
solation are most useful, and most sought. I know of no 



262 JOIJENAL. 

such, institution in American hospitals. The hospitals are 
perfectly clean. The air is pure. That unpleasant odour 
so often perceived in such houses, is wanting in these. The 
general plan is a long corridor with large windows at each, 
end. The wards on each side have windows looking out- 
ward, with ventilators in both corridors and wards. I was 
struck with one thing. In every ward is a fire in one 
of the large, very thick Russian stoves, and the fire is 
kept up the whole year. The stove-door is large and kept 
open, and so ventilation is farther provided for, and damp- 
ness prevented, without any increase of heat. The air is 
probably cooler by this arrangement. Floors, walls, ceil- 
ings, bed-stands, furniture, are perfectly clean and neat. 
Soldiers wear in hospital an outer garment, a caftan, like 
that they wear ordinarily abroad, — a light, loose woollen 
over-dress, of a grayish colour. If well enough, when the 
surgeon enters a ward, the patients rise and stand erect at 
the foot of the bedstead, as if on parade, in their long wrap- 
pers. They are quite fine looking men, being selected from 
other regiments, and form the Guards. Their sick diet is 
good, being adapted to diseases and their stages. The bread 
is white, and sweet. I saw and eat enough of this to learn 
these important facts in its history. As soon as convalescence 
begins, the men ask for the black bread, which forms their 
principal food in health, — their national food. There are 
two meals a day, except in cases in which liquid or mixed 
diet is used, when it is given as often as it is required. 
Three pounds of black bread, I was told, form the day's 
supply in health, and are taken in such portions as are 
desired. The sick and convalescent diet embraces all the 
articles ordinarily used, — gruels, meat, soups, puddings, 
&c. The bathing establishment is very well provided. I 
counted six large, nicely painted tubs in one bathing room. 
Patients, upon admission, are bathed, and thoroughly 
cleaned, and clean clothing substituted for that which they 
wore in. The arrangements relating to the hospital history, 



JOUKNAL. 263 

SO to speak, of the patients, — the card at the head of the 
bed, — with name of patient, disease, time of entrance, 
prescription, &c., resemble the forms used at the Mass. Gen. 
Hospital. On each bed, at its foot, was a report, written in 
Latin, of what had occurred the preceding day, or since the 
last visit ; an excellent mode of presenting daily all the facts 
to the attending medical officer, without any talking. 

There is attached to each hospital a corps of young men, 
students, who fill the place of our house medical and sur- 
gical officers. They enter almost boys, only knowing how 
to read. They are taught the common school matters, 
including Latin, and go round regularly to attend on the 
sick, until they have learned enough, and are old enough 
for more important trusts. Some of them may, and do, in 
this way rise to the highest posts in the service. There is 
a corps of nurses, — men, — in the hospitals, who perform 
all the offices of such in civil institutions. In the Moscow 
Hospital, Dr. Pfeehl showed me an instrument he got in 
Paris, for exhausting the air in a box in which a limb might 
be received, and which was used to increase the circulation 
in the extremities, in cases of congestions in remote organs, 
and in which blood-letting might not be indicated or admis- 
sible. Dr. Pfgehl told me he had used this boot-shaped 
instrument, with its apparatus for exhausting the air, and 
with much benefit in many cases. 

I next visited a Maternite Hospital, under the direction of 
Dr. Schmidt, who is also a lecturer. He was just leaving 
the house, when I, on the steps, was introduced to him by 

Dr. B , as a medical man from Boston, America, &c. 

He returned immediately, begging me to follow, and, 
with great courtesy, offered to show me the establishment. 
Everything was in most perfect order. A corps of female 
pupils was introduced to me, and I could not but be highly 
, pleased at the perfect gracefulness of their manner, and their 
I fine faces. They were from the inferior ranks in society, I 
was told, and destined to remote country practice. I was 



264 jouEXAL. 

showed into a room filled with presses having glass fronts, 
and full of the wdiitest linen for the patients. The glass 
doors prevent dust, and keep the articles within from get- 
ting yellow, a colour which dark closets so often produce, 
at least as I was told. I saw here an anatomical specimen 
in plaster, of great rarity and interest. Also an ingenious 
apparatus contrived to preserve a uniform temperature for 
new-born, feeble, or premature infants. It is made of brass, 
double all round, and at bottom, and into the space between 
the two walls of which, hot water may be poured, by vv^hich 
the desired warmth may be communicated to the infant 
lying in it. There was a new-born infant in the apparatus 
when I made my visit. It was of a full red colour, its skin 
warm and soft, and seemed as comfortable as any one of 
his hours could well be. 

This is a small hospital, making up fifty beds or more. 
I have said I have been much pleased with the Russian 
hospitals. This one gave me unmixed pleasure. The ma- 
tron, the nurses, the pupils, — all females, — showed in 
their dress, their manners, — the animiation discovered in all 
they did, — in other words, the obvious desire to do every- 
thing well, gave an assurance that the patients w^ere wisely 
and kindly provided for. There was no stint discovered in 
anything. Everything was on a generous, liberal footing, 
and showed how much to be valued there was in both the 
theory and the practice of this institution. Except in times 
of epidemicks the health of the hospital was excellent. My 
visit vfas a most agreeable and useful one, and will always 
be remembered with pleasure. 

I next went to a large Civil Hospital, corresponding to our 
Almshouse. We entered a room for out-patients, whose 
cases were here examined and prescribed for. The director 
or superintendent gave us leave to visit the wards. In the 

military hospitals Dr. had free admittance, having rank 

in the army. To visit the Civil Hospital he was obliged to 
ask permission, as any other person would do. This hos- 



JOUKNAL. 265 

pital has two distinct establishments, one for summer, and 
one for winter. The patients were in very large numbers 
at the time of my visit. The winter house was empty, 
undergoing repairs, thorough cleaning, painting, &c., within ; 
and outside, the plaster which had been much disturbed 
by the intense winter's cold, was getting renewed. 

I examined the condition of the patients in this immense 
establishment, with great interest. The state of the mili- 
tary hospitals, both in Moscow and St. Petersburg, was such 
as to command admiration. They were perfect in their 
kind. You may say all this care, and arrangement, and 
accurate management, is easily explained. A despotism 
depending on the military, having its very being and life in 
the army, must of course do everything to secure the utmost 
efficiency. The health of the soldier is the first thing to be 
provided for, as there can be no difficulty in determining his 
action. The Russian discipline is as strict, as perfect, as 
entire obedience can make it. But I was now visiting an 
establishment for the poor, the sick, the aged. It was with 
great pleasure I saw in this Civil Hospital, the same attention 
to the wants of its subjects, as was observed in the military. 
The ventilation was perfect, and so was the neatness, — the 
arrangements for comfort, and may I not add, for luxury ? 
Near to the bed of a patient, a feeble, emaciated, suffering 
woman, was a little table, and upon it a large basin, with 
ice in it, cut up in small bits, within her easy reach. How 
short the narrative, but how touching, how beautiful the fact. 
In an Empire having within its limits a fifth of the surface of 
the habitable globe, and counting from sixty to seventy mil- 
lions of inhabitants, that sick poor woman was cared for, as if 
she were the only one in all those millions who needed human 
sympathy. In other things was a like care. The summer 
hospital, which is in the same enclosure as the winter one, 
is surrounded with thick shrubberies, and lofty trees. Among 
these are walks. The dres* of the patients is a uniform. 
A long white robe or caftan, reaching from the neck to the 



266 JOUHNAL. 

feet, with a turban or cap of perfectly white linen or cotton, 
with long pendants flowing below the shoulders, is the out- 
side dress of all the patients ; and as you saw those who 
could leave the wards, strolling alone in the deep shade of 
the trees, their appearance was striking indeed. They 

looked to me like ghosts, and I asked Dr. what all 

this meant. He explained the matter, and as we approached 
the walks, I understood what had at first puzzled me. The 
furniture of the wards was white, and the floors were kept 
nearly of the same colour. The bedsteads were of iron. 
The food was exactly adapted to the disease and condition 
of the sick. The amount paid for medicine, for quinine, of 
which vast quantities, I was told, were used, was enormous. 
To show still further, in an example, how generous is the 
provision for the sick, I may instance the epidemick cholera 
of 1842? In that invasion thirty thousand died in St. 
Petersburg. In two days six thousand died. The Em- 
peror, Nicholas, made every arrangement in his power to 
check the progress of the disease, and at the same time pro- 
vided for the best care of the sick. He had hospitals, — 
small hospitals, — opened everywhere, where needed. Even 
in the Exchange, a room was prepared to receive imme- 
diately those w^ho might be suddenly struck down by the 
disease, and physicians and nurses were constantly at hand, 
to minister to those who might be attacked. Nor only so. 
The Emperor visited these hospitals himself, all of them, 
and of course such as were filled by the poorest, the most 
abject of his subjects. He made his visits at all hours, by 
night and by day, leaving his Palace at Peterhoff" at all 
times to make these visits. When his ministers suggested 
that it might be advisable that a cordon sanitaire should be 
placed around the Royal Palace at Peterhofi", Nicholas said, 
no. I will use no such means of personal safety. Where 
I am, there may my people be. In this and kindred ways 
did this remarkable man show himself above fear, sacri- 
ficing personal comfort, and constantly incurring hazard. 



JOURNAL. 267 

even of life, rather than be ignorant of anything relative to 
the condition and treatment of the subjects of that fearful 
epidemick. Are not these most interesting facts in such a 
life, and do they not serve to show that the care of Nicholas 
of his subjects does not proceed from personal consideration, 
and that when occasion arises, his whole people become 
objects of his direct, personal care ? I write in the English 
House on the English Quai, in the early dawn which has 
had no night, and within hearing of the drum on the parade 
ground, where the Emperor is reviewing his troops, and 
record what I have heard of him, and of his deeds. 

I went from the Civil to a very large, — one of the largest 
Military hospitals in the Empire. There was nothing to dis- 
tinguish this from others. In Moscow I had visited one, it 
may be, larger than this, and this seemed its repetition in 
another city. I was told that the Emperor, about two 
months before my visit, drove to this hospital, and arrived 
at an earlier hour than usual, and when he was not expect- 
ed. It was in the morning, and the usual preparations for 
the day had not been completed. He saw everything at 
once, and expressed his dissatisfaction at the disorder which 
he witnessed, adding that it must not exist again. There 
was, doubtless, reason for the apparent neglect ; at least 
in his Majesty's view of the matter. My visit was made 
early, but the most perfect order prevailed everywhere. I 
was carried into the kitchen, and was asked to eat of the 
bread and of the soup which was serving out to the nurses 
for the sick, and found them both very good. I could not 
but remark, when looking round upon this vast establish- 
ment, and bringing to mind the interest taken by the Em- 
peror in the whole detail of government, how vast must be 
the amount of labour, physical and intellectual, performed 
daily by this extraordinary man. He was represented to me 
as exceedingly methodical in everything he does. He rises 
very early ; sees his ministers, then walks, drives, rides, 
reviews troops ; comes some miles from his summer resi- 



268 JOUEjq-AL. 

dence, PeterhofF, to the capital, requiring of him constant 
activity to be where he is wanted. He visits different parts 
of his empire, naval and military stations, — his brother 
monarchs, — has all sorts of fetes ; is everywhere, and does 
everything. He is in perfect health ; sleeps on a leather 
couch on an iron bedstead, with a hard straw pillow. 
Dresses simply, and in his privacy wears a Avorn out pair of 
slippers, worked years ago by the Empress, and as plain and 
as old a dressing gown, as is worn by any tolerably careful 
subject. Lives, in regard to diet, simply. From every 
quarter I heard only of his untiring energy, his interest in 
detail, his knowledge of everything which transpires in his 

immense dominions. Said a long resident in , to me one 

day, " A man cannot put a bridge across a gutter for his 
personal convenience, or for his dog to pass over upon, 
without first petitioning the Emperor." This was meant, 
of course, as an extreme illustration only of the personal 
knowledge of the Emperor of everything proposed, or done 
in the Empire, which has anything of novelty in its purpose, 
plan, or accomplishment. His power, as must ever be the 
case in such a government, is supreme. An autocrat is a 
governor by himself, and perhaps in no part of the civilized 
world is he more absolute than in Russia. Many instances 
of the exercise of this power were related to me. An offi- 
cer in a very important situation failed in his duty. He 
was called into the presence of Nicholas, and charged with 
high offence, and ordered to leave St. Petersburg, and never 
visit it or Moscow again. So wholly overcome was he by 
this sentence, that he fell dead upon the floor. Another high 
officer had committed a breach of trust under circumstances 
peculiarly aggravated. He was degraded to the gallies, and 
for life. I saw a man in the stern sheets of the boat of the 
guard-ship on the Baltic, which boarded us, scarcely better 
dressed than the sailors who rowed the boat. There was, 
however, something in his expression and manner which 
attracted mv attention, as I leaned over the steamer's side. 



JOURNAL. 269 

" That man," said a fellow passenger to me, " whom you 
are observing there, and is steering the boat, was in a very 
respectable public station. He violated law, and was de- 
graded to the rank of the sailor's in this roughest service, 
and there will he remain as long as he lives ! " It is this 
sudden, this immediate exercise of supreme power which is 
felt everywhere. Men are arrested, I was told, and sent to 
the Sparrow Hills, where are collected the exiles for Siberia, 
without knowing with what crime they are charged, and 
without the least chance of defending themselves. 

The Emperor of Russia stands, in relation to subjects, as 
does a father to children who are under age. As these are 
bound to questionless submission, as their services are due 
to the parent, as they cannot leave his presence and control, 
without his consent, so does the Czar claim, hold, and exert 
similar power over his people. The subject of Russia is in an 
important sense never of age. The noble cannot leave the 
Empire but by permission of the Emperor, and for a certain 
time only, say a year or more, and by a license which costs 
hundreds or thousands of dollars for himself and family. 
If he do not return, his estates become the property of the 
state. Neither can a stranger enter Russia without leave. 
He must report himself to the police at once. He must 
give notice how long he means to stay, and advertise his 
purpose in three papers. His hotel keeper reports him to 
the police as soon as he has taken his lodgings. Suppose 
he visits Moscow or other places in Russia, he must get 
permission to do so, — get passports, and report himself 
to the authorities as soon as he gets there. Notwithstand- 
ing, then, he is still in the Empire, he cannot pass from 
one of its Governments to another, without repeating all 
he did when he first entered it, namely, comply with the 
laws which apply to strangers. He must get a passport, pay 
fees, and submit to many forms, and some inconveniences. 
Let him never forget, when he enters a railway station, 
always to take off his hat, at the door, and not to put it on 
23* 



270 JOURNAL. 

again until he is fairly out of it. Now, as I went of 
my own accord to Russia, — was allowed to go everywhere, 
and see everything, — was protected by its laws, and most 
hospitably entertained, — I was quite willing to do what form 
demanded, and which was equally demanded of the subject 
and stranger. An emjdoye of the government in the rail- 
way service, told me one day, that he was required to get a 
passport, as was every one else ; that the rule applied to the 
subject, no matter what his rank. I entered Russia volun- 
tarily then, became for the time its subject, obeyed its laws. 
The English traveller who refused to take his hat off as he 
passed through the Holy Gate of the Kremlin, and got it 
knocked off for his pains, asserted his folly, more than his 
independence. You see in these statements what is the 
character of the government here. It is the possession and 
exercise of supreme power by the individual for the benefit 
and control of the subject, who is not judged capable of 
taking care of, or governing himself. We have seen that a 
similar government exists perfectly in the parental relation. 
It is precisely this in Russia. The people are as minors, 
children, — the vast majority being supposed unfit to direct 
themselves, or to manage their own affairs. In some ancient 
state the father had the power of life and death in his own 
family. The power exercised by government in Russia is 
conceded, and exercised; and so far as I saw, a very strict 
and well-regulated family is this vast Empire. These facts, 
real or imaginary, in personal history, and in the administra- 
tion of this vast empire, were gathered in conversations at 
v/hich I was present, or stated to me directly by others. 
They are given here as illustrations of character, and of 
modes of government of a people. They show relations of 
the Emperor to his subjects, which the circumstances in which 
both are placed, give rise to. You feel that such a govern- 
ment is permanent. As to a revolution, the elements of 
such an event do not exist here. The political idea of free- 



JOUKNAL. 271 

dom has hardly place in Russia. Absolute submission is 
the law. To be free would not seem to have yet entered 
the Russian mind. 

I have never had the problem of government so distinctly 
presented to me as since I left America, and especially as it 
shows itself in the Empire of the Czar. At this great dis- 
tance from home, I have been tempted to look at America as 
something remote ; and then to see it as placed side by side 
with this, in which I this day dwell. America is to me far, 
far away yonder, beyond, and behind the great waters, — a 
history, not a fact. I see America as a whole, within its 
vast, measureless boundaries, as detached from everything 
else, — where great events have been, not are. I know 
nothing of what, at this moment, it is. I seem to know it 
only as it was. A revolution may have swept over it, and 
made it I know not what. I feel no such relations to it as 
the present has ever in its idea, and fact. I take it all in as 
at a glance, and as having been. I look at it, I handle it, 
I annihilate space, and bring it here and compare it with 
Russia. It is here in its complexity of systems, by the side 
of this vast Empire which is simplicity itself, — a unit, com- 
pared with all the numbers. Distance does for me what 
time has done with the past. I am a wanderer. I have 
no home. This everlasting day, which knows no night ! 
Is it not another world? Have I not reached another 
planet ? 

Nobody can feel the absolute difference, the immense 
antagonism between America and Russia, who has not 
looked at them thus placed side by side with each other. 
The difference is so absolute, that they admit of no compari- 
son. They are, both of them, positive in everything which 
makes them just what they are, and so infinitely unlike each 
other. In America, the theory is, that the State which is 
least governed is the best governed, — in which government 
touches nobody, — can hardly be said to be felt at all. In 



272 JOURNAL. 

Russia, tlie whole opposite is the case, for here government 
reaches everywhere, and touches everything and everybody, 
— is seen midfelt on all sides, and by everybody. What is 
the best government of a people? This depends on the 
precise development, — the whole condition of a people. If 
the people' be cultivated, — if the idea and the fact of duty 
be familiar, — if the citizen or subject, have self-controul, 
and can manage his own affairs, then the American idea of 
government is for it the true one. In such a State, the peo- 
ple are, in a certain sense, their own lavN^ They are their 
own law-makers, and may approach to the best, at least 
the best for them. Right conduct may be the rule, so far 
as conduct, the exxDression of character, is concerned ; for we 
have nothing to do with motives, and a simple code will 
meet the exigencies of the exceptions. 

Nov>^, the fact is, in America it would almost seem that the 
principal business of the people is to make for themselves 
laws. The country is flooded with the literary products of 
le'J-islation. Almost everybody who is related to legislation 
feels himself bound either to put some bill through, which 
is a law ; or what to him, in his relation to party, is quite 
as important, to make a speech, or write one, and get 
it in type before it is in voice, that the very next day's or 
hour's mail may speed it to his whole constituency. Some 
States, to get rid of the serious infliction of law mak- 
ing, have replaced it by a code which is as unchangeable, 
while in present force, as are the laws of the Maids and 
Prussians, as set forth in the travels of the Dodd Family, 
one of the cleverest of the latest works in its kind. In other 
States, the intervals of legislative sittings are filled up by 
preparing " Revised Statutes ; " and to such an extent, that 
the revised will soon be a revision. 1 have absolutely been 

told that one in an important position in , declared 

that he rarely read new laws or revised statutes. Were 
he to do more, he would have little time for anything else. 
Now, in Russia, where apparently so little has been done 



JOUE.NAL. 273 

for culture, or where, we are told, tlie best endeavours have 
resulted no other, we have almost a different race from the 
American to deal with. It seems almost at first sight, of no 
use to provide for education, so little has come of the at- 
tempt. Yet here the provision exists, and doubtless prog- 
ress is constantly made. There are schools of all kinds, — 
Lancastrian and others, — public and private, — supported 
by government, and by individuals. There are schools in 
the churches, and as all sects are tolerated, all classes may 
find schools for their children. The people are profoundly 
skilled in the ceremonial of the Greek Church, and I have 
never seen such devotion, such faithful performance of wor- 
ship. I have heard, however, that the Emperor, while he 
encourages education for the masses, is not very friendly to 
the universities. I was told the University in St. Peters- 
burg, which has had eight hundred students, has now only 
three hundred, and this in consequence of an order of the 
Emperor. On the other hand, in a recent work on Russia, 
which I found in the library of the Victoria, on the Baltic, 
and which deeply interested me, I see that in one of the 
southern governments, or departments, there were in one 
university, ninety professors. This account might lead one 
to inquire if there may not be some special reason for the 
reported special legislation concerning the St. Petersburg 
University, if such have really been adopted. We know 
that recent investigations of the management of the endow- 
ments of Oxford University, — its colleges, or some of them, 
— have showed a condition of things entirely diff'erent from, 
and opposed to, those provided for by the founders of pro- 
fessorships, or colleges, and more especially in regard to 
the numbers and condition of those for whom those en- 
dowments were especially designed, namely, yoor boys ; or 
those whose only chances of culture could be secured by 
such foundations. A neglect, a violation of a sacred duty, 
is thus said to exist in highly cultivated, civilized England, 
and which it will take the whole power of the government 



274 JOURNAL. 

to correct, — the crown only being able to restore those 
foundations to their original position and purposes ; and the 
present patronage of the crown growing out of an alleged 
perversion of sacred trusts, is thought too important an item 
in the exercise of power, to be yielded to what some re- 
gard as demands of questionless justice. The Parliamentary 
statements by committees of the present condition, the per- 
version of the endowments referred to, are both curious, and 
interesting. They show as distinctly, as does anything in 
Russia, that what has long been, however in itself wrong, 
has for its continuance the authority of usage, or precedent, 
and that to disturb such a tenure, might involve some of the 
most important related interests of the Empire. Again, in 
England, some time since, Sir James Graham brought a bill 
into the Commons, called the " Education, or Educational 
Bill." It contained a system of universal culture, which 
would embrace the children of the whole nation. It was 
lost, because it provided that the Book of Common Prayer 
should be used in the schools. The Dissenters defeated a 
bill which proposed the profoundest national reform, and 
defeated it because popular ignorance was felt to be better 
than the possible extension of a form of worship, — of be- 
lief, — of faith, — whose friends and defenders have been 
amongst the greatest, and most venerated minds in England. 
In Prussia, where, as we have seen, education has received 
the aid and wisest patronage of a prince, whose nearest 
companion and friend is Humboldt, — in Prussia, the boy 
must leave the kingdom by stealth, or by direct royal per- 
mission, if he or his parents prefer a foreign education to 
that provided for the subject at home. Again, it was 
remarked above, that government may and does get its 
character from the popular culture, and America was referred 
to as an example. But it would appear that education or 
the extent and perfection of its means, is not always the 
measure of the character of a government, especially in 
regard to the liberty of the subject. In Austria, Prussia, 



JOURNAL. 275 

Denmark, and in the greater part, if not the ^vhole of Ger- 
many, education is not only provided for by government, 
but, as we have seen, is absolutely forced upon the people, 
and the whole people. There is a penalty to be paid by the 
parent for not sending children to school. But where is 
military despotism more absolute than in Prussia, where 
most has been done for popular culture ? 

We have heard of the division of the Scotch Church 
which has within a few years occurred, and the cause, viz., 
the presentation of a person of bad habits to a living, which 
the seceders petitioned Parliament to annul. Parliament 
could not, it dare not, lay the weight of a finger upon this 
tremendous abuse of the power of presentation in the Old 
Kirk. We read in the English papers of the vices of the 
clergy, — drunkenness, horse-racing, or what not. But for 
these and like offences, there is no remedy. The delin- 
quent may be suspended from oifice, — in other words, get 
his rates without service. 

But what are all these facts ? They may be exceptions 
to the rule, but seen from a distance, for instance in Amer- 
ica, and under a totally different point of view from that 
under which they are seen at home, they are regarded as 
monstrous ; and amazement breaks forth that any nation, 
having only a tolerable sense of public character, can tol- 
erate such abuse for an instant. In other words, the exception 
becomes the rule, and judgment is recorded accordingly. 
In Europe, systems of whatever kind, are not changed in a 
minute. Permanency is the rule. The old works well 
enough ; and if the pressure is too outrageous, — too heavy 
to be borne, — Secession happens, as in Scotland, or revol 

tion, as elsewhere. The obnoxious incumbent may hav^ 

his 
thin church, but his benefice is worth to him just what , 

was before. Russia modifies its educational patronage. 

. ^ get 
You cannot tell how strongly impressed was I witt" ^ 

. aters- 

difierences between Europe and America, under whai 



276 JOUKNAL. 

aspect they were viewed. They have no sort of resemblance. 
Conduct, which Mackintosh so wisely calls the "expres- 
sion of character," — and manner, which, though of a hum- 
hler source, is one of the pleasantest, most felicitous of 
conventions, — how different are these in the two Conti- 
nents. We, indeed, wear the French bonnet, and read the 
English book ; but the American mind is not the English ; 
nor is the American face the French, though both are 
covered with the same bonnet. The difference is in con- 
duct and manner. I do not mean so much in the greater 
social moralities, as in all those nameless and so-called lesser 
qualities, and their manifestations, which make up so much 
of life, — its comfort, its luxury, and its attraction. You 
can tell a Frenchman, before he says a word ; and the 
Anglo-Saxon has only to speak, to show that he is not the 
Anglo-American. The reason is not in my " philosophy." 

The most extraordinary personage I saw abroad Avas the 
serf. He certainly is a man without his accidents. " Mod- 
ern degeneracy has not yet reached him." He is just where 
he has always been, and may always be. He is small in 
stature, thin, sharp in feature, with blue eyes, and yellowish 
light hair. This colour may come of the Russian dust, for 
it is certain that a serf never combs or brushes his hair. 
The hair is very thick, and cut square off, all round. There 
is no fine work here. On his head he has a very small cap, 
and as mysterious to me, as to the keeping on, as was that 
of the London Blue-coat boy. Sometimes the want of size 
in the cap is increased by the loss of it. But the most 
important part of a serf's costume is the schuhe. This, as 
^^-.s said, is of sheepskin, dressed with the wool on, the 
^^'>ol being next to the skin. Now the mode of wearing the 
c^'m&e is not influenced at all by season. The summer, and 
^^ ^ winter, both make it welcome. The lower dress of the 
^^® ^ is anything, or nothing, as the case may be. What 

meastate of things may be underneath the national costume, 
rega 



JOUKNAL. 277 

seeing that the government does not encourage washing, I 
may guess, but hardly dare say. Speaking of washing, I 
was talking with my courier of what I had heard of the 
serfs' ablutions, and which I had witnessed. It consists in 
filling the mouth with water. After retaining it there a 
short time, it is received from the mouth into the hollow 
made by holding the hands together at their lower edges, 
and swelling the backs out ; and lastly the face is washed by 
this same water as clean as circumstances allow. The dry- 
ing is not provided for. When I had finished my descrip- 
tion to the courier, who is a Dane, he smiled, and said that 
that was the mode of face-washing at his home when a boy. 
The same indifference about costume prevails beyond the 
serf. The serf is a slave. He is owned by another. He 
belongs to the soil. He goes with it. Not long ago he 
was sold off of the land, as is the present fact in regard to 
the slave in America, the Republic. In scarce any other 
state in the world, whether barbarous or civilized, is this 
traffick in men, women, and children allowed, except amongst 
ourselves, and under no possible arrangement could slavery 
be more surely perpetuated -than by this. A worn-out Slave 
State becomes a breeder of slaves for the market, and thou- 
sands are produced in this way, merely to supply the de- 
mand. To this is owing the extension of slavery. The new 
soil introduced into the Republic, under the names of Ter- 
ritories, or States, has been made into Slave States, wherever 
the slave can be used. In Russia this trafiick has been abol- 
ished by law. The serf is not desirous of liberty. He will 
neither buy it, nor take it. He is a privileged man. As long 
as he is a serf he must be supported by his owner in sick- 
ness, infirmity, and old age. He knows all this, and gov- 
erns himself accordingly. I was told he might work on his 
own account, and pay as a sort of rent of himself, a certain 
amount of his earnings to his owner. He may even get 
rich. In the Nevskoi Prospect, a grand street in St. Peters- 
24 



278 joTJUNAii. 

burg, are shops owned and occupied by serfs. Their owners 
are rich, and live in great style. "^^ 

I was once looking out of a window in my hotel in , 

and seeing a labourer in a wagon, dressed in a very clean 
white and blue striped shirt, I made some remark upon it 

to Mr. , who kept the house. Said he, " That is his 

only shirt, and he will not change it till it is worn out. 
In my neighbour's yard many men work, — they are called 
yard-men. Two of them have tAvo shirts apiece, and are 
thought to be excessively particular in regard to clean linen." 
This utter recklessness in these orders about dress, — per- 
sonal neatness, influences deeply domestic concerns. A 
noble family comes to a city to pass the wdnter. It contains a 
crowd of serfs. The number of servants determines style. 
A great many rooms are taken. Comfort is the object, 
and eating the business. Hence cooking makes the prin- 
cipal concern of the family. Regularity as to hours is a 
minor moral. The consequence is the gradual accumulation 
of much it were better to remove ; until, when the spring 

* Tke pi'ivileges of serfdom are seriously questioned. Tke Czar has 
talked of the emancipation of the serfs. The successor of Nicholas, it is 
said, has proposed this. The nobles, I hear, oppose it. Now, if such a 
plan or pirrpose is in the Emperor's heart and mind, it will as surely be 
accomplished as the sun shines in July in St. Petersburg. It will be a 
curious fact, will it not, if Kussia gets the start of us, — the des- 
potism be in advance of the Kepublic, — in the race of freedom ? Think 
of it, that in that uncivilized, barbarous, warlike, for so they call the Rus- 
sian people, the near denizen of the Pole, — think of the dark, benighted 
Russian, abolishing slavery before America, the U. S. A. If that day 
come, it will be darker for us, than is the Russian winter, for its people. 
We shall be alone among the nations, which are nations. Why, the 
Ottoman has abolished, and so have aU the states of Barbary. We 
shall be alone. Do you think that any American President will ever 
have the rashness to recommend, in an inaugural address, what the 
Czar has begun to talk about, and will surely accomplish ? But the 
nobles object. Yes. But do you for a moment think they can prevent 
so divine a purpose ? Other nobles of other lands might. But they of 
Russia ne^er will even think of doing so. 



JOUENAL. 279 

comes, and with, it a general and special thawing out, few 
things can exceed or equal the reUquicB of that noble house- 
keeping. Painting, papering, washing, &c., are the pro- 
cesses which immediately follow its departure. 

While travelling in Russia, I met with a very nice Eng- 
lish lady, who was my fellow-traveller for several days. 
She had been about one thousand miles from St. Petersburg, 
as a governess to a noble Russian family, — a teacher of one 
little girl. She spoke of the strong contrasts between do- 
mestic life there and England, — of the carelessness in 
regard to matters about which the rule of English life is 
so severe. She had been in Russia two years. The place 
was perfectly beautiful. The grounds were in the highest 
state of cultivation, with hot-houses for all sorts of fruits, — 
in short, having everything to make the place a paradise. 
She said she always called it one. And yet, with all this 
external care, the national in-door customs Vv^ere to her in 
most extraordinary contrast. This lady had been highly 
pleased with the family ; had been most kindly treated, and 
what she said expressed surprise more than censure. There 

was a little romance in the story. Miss was alone. 

She had made a journey of two thousand miles from her 
home to her Russian residence, exposed to all sorts of 
chances, but sustaining herself perfectly, — adapting herself 
to whatever occurred with admirable facility. She was 
handsome, and of excellent manners. I had much conver- 
sation with the people about me, for they differed from 
many groups which have fallen in my way abroad, some of 
whom were so wholly disagreeable and repulsive, though 
apparently of good birth and culture, that you shrunk in- 
tuitively from them, as hardly belonging to the race, and 
who gave you no desire to study the new variety or species. 
A man can make himself the most disagreeable creature 
beneath God's heavens. With my present party was suffi- 
cient variety, but very attractive elements ; and this young 



280 JOURNAL. 

lady especially ministered to the current pleasure. I talked 
to her often, and always found her very cultivated, and very 
happy in expressing both knowledge and thought. But the 
romance. I learned she left England on account of an 
attachment which was not agreeable at home, and had been 
in the heart of Russia for repose, for useful occupation, and 
its products. She had been absent two years, but had not 
forgotten what she had left at home. She was now return- 
ing with a settled purpose to be married. I learned this 
from a lady fellow-traveller ; and it was pretty clear from 
the distinctness with which her companion communicated 
her purpose to her, that the sentiment which two Russian 
winters could not freeze out, would have its way, though 
that way might not be smooth. So goes the world. Such 
is life everywhere. 

Few things arrested my attention more in Russia, than 
the extent of the Church, the provision for w^orship, and the 
power of the priesthood. The high priest is the Emperor 
himself, — the head of the Church, as of everything else in 
his Empire. The position of the Emperor to the Church, or 
his power in regard to its administration, may be inferred 
from this historical fact. The patriarchal dignity of Mos- 
cow having been abused, and a new patriarch being about to 
be chosen, after the death of Adria, 1702, Peter the Great 
presented himself with the words, " I am your Patriarch," 
and in 1721 the whole church government was intrusted to a 
college of bishops and secular clergy, called the Holy Synod, 
first at Moscow, now at St. Petersburg. Under such a sys- 
tem it can hardly be otherwise but that the priesthood 
should yield to the Emperor. I was again and again told 
that this was the case, and that the submission is as perfect 
as is that of the serf, or the soldier. He rules as by divine 
right. When the people petitioned him not to build the 
Moscow and St. Petersburg Raihvay, as it would seriously 
affect their intercourse in the interior, and their settled 



JOURNAL. 281 

business on the old roads, his ans^ver, as reported to me, 
was, " God makes the railway," and all objections were 
withdrawn. What is the best government in such a state ? 
Is it not just that which now exists ? Does not the univer- 
sal condition it has produced, and maintains, require it ? Is 
not such a controul necessary, where no other exists ? Are 
not the people of Russia children in fact, as v.^ell as in laid ? 
And must they not be treated as such ? The man would 
laugh at the punishment which the child keenly feels. He 
must be restrained by physical force, and punished with 
comparatively a terrible severity. Capital punishment is 
abolished in Russia. A bad government is felt to be such, 
the moment a better one is demanded. The present govern- 
ment, — this supreme despotism, — may be the best now. 
The time of a better one will declare itself, whenever 
is the sure progress of civilization. 

The censorship is very rigidly enforced. You have a 
book in your trunk, a road-book, or other. It may be taken 
from you as soon as found, and sent to the censor. He ex- 
amines it. If it contain nothing which by any construction 
can be regarded as dangerous to the Empire, it is returned. 
If any question arise, it v/ill be kept till you leave the 
country. Now it is well known that the Emperor, unlike 
Frederick ihe Great, who, we have seen, took counsel of 
nobody, — an autocrat in the severest sense of the word, — 
the Czar collects around him the most distinguished men he 
can find. He fosters, honours such. He is himself highly 
cultivated, and remarkable for his intellectual powers, and 
for their wise uses. He knows the value of the means of 
self-culture. Yet with all this, he keeps books under the 
strictest watch. He questions what they may contain, or 
what they may suggest ; and this, notwithstanding a popular 
ignorance, said to be wholly unparalleled, and notwithstand- 
ing the large means in use for the higher classes of liberal 
culture. There is an almost equal jealousy of foreigners. 
They are, after all, living books, and are read without the 
24* 



282 JOURNAL. 

authority of the censorship. This jealousy shows itself in 
inconvenient forms. I have given an example in the Rus- 
sian passport system. 

When I entered Russia, I was told to leave politics be- 
hind me. It was a contraband article, and must neither be 
entered, nor uttered. I was told that somebody would 
watch me wherever I went, and report at court what I 
might say in the street ; that walls would speak, and a 
bird in the air would tell the matter. Now all this seemed 
very strange to me, and I took early and special pains to 
inquire into the subject, and of those who might be sup- 
posed to know most concerning it. From them I learned 
that nothing more was expected in Russia from visitors, 
than the safety and courtesy of nations everywhere demand- 
ed ; that it would be in very bad taste to go about to abuse 
a government concerning matters of which a stranger might 
be wholly ignorant ; and that a state which protected the 
foreigner, admitted him to the first social intercourse, opened 
to him its institutions for learning, for art, for every im- 
portant human interest, deserved not only courtesy, but 
gratitude, from him, and from those who were so generously 
provided for. I certainly received nothing but kindness. 
I was not robbed in the streets, nor on the railway, hotel, 
nor in the crowded assembly, though other guide boards 
caution the traveller specially concerning these. I saw no 
staring notices, in large capitals, to beware of " pickpockets," 
&c., in these places of public resort. I v/ent out, and came 
in, with as much freedom from all fear, as at home. I am 
free, however, to confess, that I did sometimes feel under a 
restraint which was not always agreeable. I did feel as if 
more than common prudence was sometimes necessary in 
the freedom and confidence of social intercourse, to prevent 
one from saying that which, by a forced construction, might 
involve him in trouble, — and I am free to confess, that I 
breathed rather more freely on the broad Baltic, than on the 
Neva. Letter writing had its cautious. My correspondence, 



JOURNAL. 283 

which was rare on the Continent, was mainly done in bank- 
ing houses. When I wanted money, I drew on Messrs. 
Baring & Co., London, and left with the banker in St. 
Petersburg, or elsewhere, a letter to my agent in America, 
giving him notice of the draft, together with a word of my 
whereabout, and health to my family, with a request that 
my letter should go with the draft to the London house. 
Thus were the claims of business and of the family an- 
swered at the same time, and as comprehensive a correspon- 
dence sustained, as might well be carried on, and without 
the least adulteration of foreign affairs. I sometimes met 
with social annoyances. Thus a person I sat with every 

day at table, , used to address and talk with me in 

French. Nothing but the apparent kindness of this, my 
vis-a-vis, would have led me to attempt to talk with him at 
all. A gentleman, with whom I had become acquainted, 
having seen my embarrassment, said, "That person who talks 
to you in French, and apparently to your annoyance, is an 
Englishman, and talks French for some reason best known 
to himself. I would take the liberty to advise you to say 
nothing in his hearing in English, which you are not willing 
everybody else should understand. From his official posi- 
tion, I would avoid him." 

Let me add a little to what I have said of the Emperor. 
Qualities are universally attributed to him on the Continent, 
which place him very high in the roll of statesmen. I have 
this day talked of Russia with one who has had large op- 
portunity, from an official position, to know much of what is 
going on there. (I am writing in Denmark.) He spoke of 
the vast executive power of Nicholas, — of his wide knowl- 
edge, — of his skill, or tact in seeing what was to be done, 
and how to do it. He instanced his intervention in the 
case of Austria and Hungary. He was opposed, he said, 
and I have heard the same said again by others, — Nicholas 
was opposed by his ministers, or by those with whom he 
was in the habit of conferring more or less, as to the part he 



284 JOURNAL. 

meant to take in public affairs. But lie v/ent on, and as 
tlie person referred to said, he had saved Europe. Austria 
otherwise would certainly have been overpowered, and a uni- 
versal war would have desolated the Continent, — a war not for 
liberty, but for plunder. Then again in the recent pacifica- 
tion of Denmark, by which the succession has been settled, 
and the Duchies of Holstein and Schleswig have been re- 
united to Denmark, — in this important measure, Russia 
had taken a principal part. Prussia was opposed to this 
arrangement, for she had determined to have made the 
Duchies its portion of the prey, and because she could in 
this way get important ports, of which she had great need ; 
and having these, she could at once create a navy. Russia 
opposed this scheme. She had an hereditary lien upon 
Denmark, or the Duchies, but was willing to abandon this 
claim, and so sacrifice the addition of this kingdom forever 
to her own vast territory, if Prussia agreed to the pacifica- 
tion. This was at length accomplished. By the interven- 
tion of Russia in the affairs of Austria and Hungary, a loan 
of eighty millions rubles silver, became necessary. It was 
said this w^as raised to meet the cost of the railway, which 
exceeded the estimates by that amount. I heard it said 
again and again, that not a copeck of this loan was used on 
the road, but was used in the military service referred to. 
You will complain, I fear, that I am so long and tedious 
about Nicholas. But I assure you that nobody who passes 
any time in Russia, and who says anything about it, can 
fail to say- something of the Emperor. He is Russia. I 
saw him only in his drosky, as he drove rapidly through the 
streets of his capital. But I saw him in his works every- 
where. He has created his own memorial before he dies. 
Well may it be said on his monument, " circumspice," — 
look around. He receives the astonishing work of Peter 
Velikiy otherAvise, the Great, — the magnificent, — a city, 
created in a marsh ; but how added to in all that a great 
capital of a vast empire demands, and with what success, 



JOURNAL. 285 

I left my account of the labouring class, the mujiks before 
finishing it, and there are some things in their modes of life, 
character, and amusements in themselves, and in their rela- 
tions to the government, which may make the sketch more 
complete. They are as perfect fixtures as the Empire it- 
self. They are always the same. I have seen them in the 
morning, the noon, the evening, going to their earliest 
work, and at the close of day, when they were going to their 
homes. I have seen them in the church. The same care- 
lessness of costume, the same entire leisure in all sorts of 
labour, the same want of interest in the affairs of others, 
especially where mutual aid is required. A word of their 
diet. This knows little or no change, except in the fre- 
quent and severe fasts of their church, and these consist in 
no diet at all. The black, and as it seemed to me, acid 
bread, — the national bread, — and a drink called Quas, form 
the principal articles of food. The bread has an agreeable 
aromatic smell, but the taste to me was not enticing. The 
taste was positive, a quality which makes many things not 
agreeable at first, exceedingly so by use ; the use of which 
was begun with reluctance, if not disgust, making it abso- 
lutely a necessity afterwards. I asked often if this bread 
was ever thought to produce disease. With us, rye is 
thought at times to do so, and is known to produce certain 
medicinal eff'ects. The answer was always in the negative, 
and long observation of its use had showed that it was the 
very best bread for the labourer. It is comparatively slow of 
digestion, and this is regarded an advantage where food is 
taken at long intervals. At all events, this bread is prefer- 
red both by sick and well, to all other ; and we have seen 
that among the first marks of convalescence from disease, is 
the strong desire to return to the common diet, to the 
abandonment of the white bread, and other delicacies of the 
hospital. 

The national drink is Qiias. It is the product of the fer- 
mentation of grain, and is of a very taking colour. It is 



286 JOURNAL. 

made by the people everywhere. It is as much relished as 
is the bread, and, it may be, for the same reason. It is said 
to be cooling, quenches thirst, is nutritious, and in no quan- 
tities intoxicating. Having heard so much of Quas^ I was 
desirous to try it, and on the railway to Moscow I had an 
excellent chance for the indulgence. Wherever the train 
stopped, whatever else might be wanting for refreshment, 
Quas never was. It was brought out in bucket fulls, and 
sold for almost nothing. I took a glass full, as did most of 
my fellow travellers, and attempted to drink it, but the ex- 
periment failed entirely. It hardly reached so far from my 
lips as my teeth, when as by a functional instinct, it rushed 
back again, and escaped to the ground, to my exceeding joy. 
A Russian gentleman who partook largely of this luxury, 
and commended it most strongly to me, was not a little 
amused at the result of my trial of his national beverage. 

Quas was said not to be intoxicating. I have seen but 
one drunken person in Russia. This fact is explained by 
another. Drinking, brandy drinking, for the popular in- 
toxicating drink, is called brandy, — is in some sort periodi- 
cal. The labourer will work the whole week. On Saturday 
evenings he will go to the drinking places in the outskirts 
of the city, and there drink, it may be, all night. He may 
do the same other nights, but for the day, I saw but one 
instance of this frequent result elsewhere of the practice. 
This drink called brandy, is, I believe, a whiskey, a distil- 
lation from grain, and to increase its pungency, a small, dark 
reddish, or greenish pepper is added to it when drank. I saw 
large quantities of these peppers in the bazars where gro- 
ceries were sold. Whiskey drinking has a large financial, 
or political bearing. A vast revenue is derived from it. I 
think I was told, if memory serve, seventy or eighty millions 
rubles silver is the excise on the distillation in first hands. 
Then comes the retail excise. You see how important is 
this drinking custom to government. Its revenue, I was 
told, exceeded that from any other source. There is not 



jouii:nal. 287 

the least check to it by government. The license is largely- 
taxed, and cheerfully paid for. Russia is not alone in the 
revenue it derives directly from national customs, involving 
national vices. England is another example. The Gin 
Palace is, in London, everywhere, and its customers are of 
all classes, from the half-clad, squalid beggar, to the best 
dressed of its frequenters. It stands open on Sundays, 
while the bread shop next to it is closed and locked ; for the 
law makes food-selling a violation of the Lord's day, while 
it sanctions the Gin Palace, and its terrible, infamous traffick. 
It first debases men to the army, drunkenness being the 
surest incentive to enlistment, and then supplies the funds 
for the soldiers' vv^retchcd pay. I saw no drunkenness on the 
Continent of Europe. In England I saw it in its most dis- 
gusting expression, — for instance, a woman with her face 
bleeding, her clothes torn to rags, roaring curses, in the 
rough hands of the police, on her way to prison. I saw 
this from my window at the Waterloo in Liverpool. I have 
a remembered drunkenness in England, which I saw to- 
wards half a century ago, when a student in London. I 
mean what I saw on Sunday evenings in my strolls to the 
outskirts of the city, and was among the crowds who were 
coming from the gardens, and other places of resort in the 
suburban surroundings. Nothing could go beyond that 
degradation. What effect the discovery of the Gin Palace has 
had in diminishing the popularity of the old resort, I cannot 
say. It is a modern invention, but I have not learned that 
it has contributed to that uprightness in which we are told 
man was created. 

In France they manage this better. The popular drinking 
takes place outside the barrier. And this, because wine 
and its congeners can be drank at an expense less the duty, 
the octroi, which is paid for all food and drink which enters 
Paris. There is drinking enough there, and men must be 
sobered again, I think, before they return to the city, for I 
certainly saw no drunkenness in Paris. 



288 JOUKNAL. 

I have been constantly struck with the social dispositions, 
and with their expression on the Continent, and have referred 
to it before. The lower classes, so called, in Russia have their 
meetings. These are as simple in their preparation as they 
can well be. They have for eating a sweet substance con- 
tained in black pods, or hollow canes, and which is very cheap. 
I knew it as soon as I saw it. We boys used to get it 
in Newport, my native place, from vessels in the tropical 
trade, and we prized it highly. It is a black, adhesive sub- 
stance, and very tasteful, called Locust. This with Quas, 
whiskey, and bread, forms the entertainment of these simple 
people. I was in one of the public w'alks of a Sunday 
evening, in Moscow, where were men and women selling 
various things, and saw upon a table, and then on many, my 
old friend the Locust. I bought some of it, and carefidly 
stowed it in my luggage for you. I have spoken of the 
places of congregation for pleasure in the outskirts of St. 
Petersburg. In its neighbourhood, are the Summer 
Islands, so called, to which resort fashion, and unfashion, 
in coach, on horse, on foot, for evening entertainments. 
In Russia, the perpetual day, much favours these enter- 
tainments. It attracts the American much, this endless 
system of public amusement in foreign countries. We 
have no such thing ; nothing approaching to it. I have 
sometimes wondered how the people abroad are able to 
give so much time and money to such objects. I should 
say that Sundays, and other holidays, the latter of which 
are very frequent in the Greek Church, are specially 
devoted to amusements, after worship or Mass is over, 
by the labourer ; while the nobility and gentry devote other 
days also to the same objects. The roads at such times 
are full. The public houses and grounds are crowded. But 
no noise, no riot, but real downright enjoyment. I some- 
times pitied the little children dragging along the dusty 
roads, and the mothers too, who were carrying their babes in 
their arms. But it was a lost grief, all seemed contented, 
and all seemed happy. 



JOURNAL. 289 

You know that I always look with interest at industry, 
which is work, to an end. I have been a worker all my life, 
and many times have I lamented that I had not chosen a 
mechanic trade, instead of physic. This old predilection 
was in full blast in Europe, and whenever there was chance, 
I have seen men at work. I say chance, for you know that 
women do most of the out-door, as well as in-door work, in 
this Old World. But the Russian labourer. He is of all 
men the most moderate, quiet, noiseless man in the world. 
You are reminded by him of the builders of Solomon's 
Temple, in which the noise of the hammer or saw was not 
heard. The Russian is never in a hurry. He is driving a 
horse in a cart or wagon, loaded or not. He goes on his 
way with most commendable moderation. The pleasure 
driver is a very Jehu ; the streets are too wide for easy col- 
lision, and he who sins by injurious contact, has to pay a most 
heavy penalty. I had fair opportunity to watch work in 
which absence of excitement was remarkable. The Russian 
carpenter, so far as I saw, uses but one tool, a broadaxe. 
With this he cuts and shapes his work, — smooths, mortices, 
dovetails it. In short he does everything with it which his 
mystery demands, and I have never seen better work done 
than with this one tool. What he may have in his shop 
beside, I know not. He may have all tools. I only speak 
of what I see. I have seen houses in progress, and you 
cannot tell how accurate are the joints, — how symmetrical 
is the product. I have heard and read that interpolations 
have been made on the old apparatus, or tools. But I 
chronicle j ust what I have seen. The street cleaner uses a 
wooden shovel. 

There w^as on the road to Moscow an incident which 
attracted me, and of which I meant to have made special 
record. We stopped for a few moments for refreshments. 
On the platform was a lady, dressed with much care, and 
really very handsome, who found her refreshment in smoking 
a cigar, — not a cigarette, but a veritable good-sized, and 
25 



290 JOUHNAL. 

very dark coloured cigar. She wore the whitest kid gloves, 
and the contrast between these and the black cigar was 
indeed most noticeable. The lady had left her bonnet in 
the carriage, and was as much at home in the open air as if 
in her parlour. 

I have thus put down for your edification some things 
which come before me, or were heard, concerning Russian 
life ; and some of the thoughts of which my observations 
have been father. How imperfect seems individual and 
national development. Russia reposes in and upon the past. 
Its latest progress has often been made by foreigners. 
Americans have been most liberally employed. American 
engineers built the Moscow and St. Petersburg Railway, 
and they have made the vast material for running it. Nay, 
they are permanently employed for keeping everything in 
repair, or for making the new. The late Major Whistler, 
who begun the railway, and made vast progress towards 
completing it, but who, in the midst of his labours, was cut 
off by the cholera, — Major Whistler was the personal friend 
of Nicholas, and upon the most intimate terms with him. 
The splendid bridge which crowns the Neva in the ciiy, was 
finished by an American engineer, at least, so was I told in 
St. Petersburg. I have since learned that the material only 
was furnished for finishing the bridge, by an American ; if 
my memory serve, Mr. Harrison, of Baltimore. Progress 
or change among the people, or by its head, however, is very 
slowly made. I said that responsible men had offered to 
the Emperor to bring water by pipes into the city from the 
Neva, which passes through it ; and that others had pro- 
posed to introduce gas, and to distribute both everywhere, 
and upon reasonable terms. The Emperor declined the 
proposal at once. I asked why ? I was told that the 
novelty of the scheme seemed the only objection to it. The 
Russian has always dipped his water out of the Neva, and 
there ran the river ; and hands, arms, buckets and baAls, 
remained for use unto the present day. And as to the gas 



JOURNAL. 291 

matter, oil was as abundant and as pure as ever. If it were 
sometimes frozen up in the lamps in the long cold night of 
winter, the gas might fail too ; and as to the serfs stealing 
the oil out of the lamps to drink, a use to which I heard 
alleged it was occasionally put ; why, the police must look 
to that. So that, as it was with the fathers, so is it now 
with the children. 

But this relates to the physical. How is it with the 
moral, the intellectual, the religious ? Its philosophy is 
fatalism. Its faith is predestination. The product of their 
union is religious repose. Peter the Great died in the 
twenty-fifth year of his reign. The monarchs, I was told, 
since Peter, down to Nicholas I., the reigning Emperor, 
have all died at a like time from their accession ; at least no 
one has exceeded it. The same fate, it is said, awaits suc- 
cessors. 

One cannot leave such a country unmoved. Its history, 
— the slow, but steady growth which the annexation of 
empires has so faithfully fostered, — the fusion of conti- 
nents, of nations, of races, into one, — the universal order, 
the product of a government which never rests, and never 
tires, — the general aspect of content, — its exhaustless re- 
sources, — the hatred of change, the only tolerated one 
being the addition of new territory, — the wide popular 
ignorance, and the apparent national indifference concerning 
it, — the patronage of art and science, — the indigenous, as 
well as that of foreign lands, — serfdom tolerated without a 
murmur ; nay, nay, held to, because securing an old age of 
comfort, for the youth, and manhood, of toil : look where 
we may, — study the problem of Russian life as earnestly, 
and as wisely as we may, we must come from our study aston- 
ished at a present which is a continuous past, and for which 
the future seems to have nothing to bestow. But the time 
of a truer, a wider civilization, is coming, and may be now 
at the door. Humanity asks in prayer, that its advent may 
be in peace, and its consummation a nation's felicity. 



292 JOTJENAL. 

Den3IAiik:. TImrsday, July 1st. — Left St. Petersburg 
for Copenhagen about one p. M., in the English steamer 
Victoria, of Hull, England, Captain Kreuger. Having a 
little time on hand at Cronstadt, I, with a fellow passenger, 
left the boat, took a drosky, and drove about the place. 
This is an immense naval depot, and its docks are crowded 
with large ships of war, rotting at their w^harves, it taking, 
as I was told, about five years to complete that process 
for the largest three-decker, of which I saw many. Mer- 
chant vessels abound from all nations, but much fewer from 
America than formerly ; say twenty-five, where there were 
a hundred. The defences of Cronstadt, within itself and 
neighbourhood, are of the most imposing appearance. There 
is a large granite structure of immense strength, four stories 
high, with holes in each, each occupied by a largest size 
cannon. This is in the yard itself. Then, in the sea, the 
Baltic has fortresses on every island near Cronstadt, built 
or building, having the same character of strength, which is 
in the Navy Station. Activity is everywhere, and from the 
"universal evidence of preparation, the thought will come, 
that some great movement must be at the door. There is 
an establishment here for the education of young men, 
cadets, for the navy. Masts are here, with spars and rig- 
ging, for practice, with other appliances for learning and 
for practising the wild trade of war. But the world is at 
peace all the while, and has been so for forty years. Why 
such notes of preparation ? Cronstadt has the feature, and 
expression, of such regions. Short jackets and tarpaulins, 
are everywhere, while business seemed the only order of the 
time. In our drive we called on the Episcopal clergyman, 
an acquaintance of my friend, and found a beautiful parson- 
age, but Mr. out, and Mrs. not visible. We 

proceeded to the naval region. We went quietly into the 
grounds upon a fine road, congratulating each other at our 
good fortune in getting along so well. The felicity, how- 
ever, was short ; for in very simple Russian, which my com- 



JOURNAL. 293 

panioii well understood, an orderly enticed us off of the 
road-way by a milder method than by a pitchfork. We 
soon learned that the drosky was the offender, and that we 
might walk where we pleased. So on we went, and exam- 
ined things at our will. In the construction of a new dock 
which we visited, tools used in digging were found deep 
down in the earth, and of which no one living knew the 
history. Upon examining some old records, it was discov- 
ered that Peter the Great had attempted to make a dock- 
yard in this very spot, and that these were the tools with 
which he, and his men, worked. We passed an hour or 
more walking and driving round, and returned in a Cron- 
stadt water-boat to the steamer. After some difficulties 
and delay from a head wind and crowded neighbourhood, 
we got under weigh, and rushed into the then rough and 
stormy Baltic. The voyage was short, though with a head 
wind and turbulent sea, and accompanied by as much sea- 
sickness as you would see on a summer's four days. 

You must go to sea if you would know a word, a syllable, 
a letter, about life and character, as you must go to Russia 
to know all about men. Sometimes I was less sick. Not 
so at others. There was no true sympathy in this matter. 
The 4th came, the " glorious fourth." It happened on a 
Sunday, and I was to have given an oration all about union, 
and like trifles ; but I could not utter a word, though very 
little " stuck in my throat." I could not even do so much 
as touch my glass of water with my next neighbour's glass 
of something else. My companions were mixed as to 
tongues, manners, opinions, &c. But as no man of taste 
ever frets, or any man at sea ever does anything which is not 
for the general joy, our differences produced no severe 
antagonisms, and we all kept along with the steamer. 

Monday, July 5th. — To-day we reached Copenhagen, the 

capital of Denmark. It was a warm, bright day, and I 

rejoiced in it, for cold enough had it been at sea. What 

with wind, rain, nausea, and often something worse, I had 

25* 



294 JOUKXAL. 

suffered with cold. But here was rest and warmth, and the 
prospect of a hed-room in which you might sneeze, cough, 
&c., without disturbing the equanimity of a neighbour, by 
leading him to suppose that you had done it or those things, 
with a special purpose to annoy him. Now there were in 
the Victoria's cabin seven such neighbours, surrounding a 
space just three feet by seven. To prevent inextricable con- 
fusion, such as thrusting one of your legs into a leg of 
another man's nether adornments, while he was appropriat- 
ing the other to his own use, — to prevent such malapropos, 
as far as possible, we agreed to dress by instalments, the 
curtains being closely drawn, as by protocol of the five high 
and great contracting powers, and with as little splashing of 
water in our ablutions, and other sacrifices to the graces, 
as possible. I soon tired of the whole horror, and so, 
except one night, I slept sofa-wise in the general cabin or 
saloon. Go to sea for human nature ; but tarry on land 
forever for yourself. 

You cannot imagine my thoughts or guess my experiences 
in my first moments in Copenhagen. I felt as if I had all 
at once got among a new race, so different was the general 
and particular aspect of what I had just left, from all I now 
saw. That was perfect in its kind from the extreme of its 
magnificence, down through all its stages, to its lowest. 
This, too, was perfect in its kind. Here was a people in its 
own costume, every one of them. Not a beard, nor mous- 
tache, nor whisker. It seemed as if the everlasting Sab- 
bath had come, and clean faces, clean clothes, &c. &c., were 
the order of the day. I thought I had been years north 
instead of days ; and the change was greater, as such 
crowds of events met with in Eussia now seemed to have 
required so much time for their enactment, for in their 
extreme interest they had replaced all others. My courier 
is a perfect hand-book here, his "native land," — as he is 
everywhere else. We passed along through the streets. 
" There," said he, " lives the English Ambassador, — he 



JOTJRisrAL. 295 

has been here thirty years. There lives the Russian. That 

is the Governor's house. This is Prince , and that the 

King's," &c. &c. I did now take courage, as did the 
Apostle when he saw the Three Taverns. So we drove to 
the Hotel Royal, opposite the Christiansburg Palace, and in 
a very nice place have I now my present abode. 

I have said nothing of our leave-taking on the deck of 
the Victoria, — a queenly steamer indeed. I am sure, laugh 
as you may " at this life's weaknesses," this going touched 
me. With some of the passengers I had passed most of 
my Russian life, which seemed so long. In strange lands, 
strangers are nearer than others when at home ; and I felt 
that I owed these friends much. Then the captain had done 
his whole duty in storm, and in some peril. I had been so 
much pleased with him, that I wrote him a note in which to 
say that which might not have been otherwise said so well. 
I felt sorry to leave so many in whom I had found so much 
kind feeling, and which, in its expression, had done so much 
to make me feel that I was cared for. But the parting is 
over, and I can do no more, and could have done no less, 
than to make record of Avhat, at the time, so much pleased 
me, and which I shall not forget. 

The table d'hote at the Royal was at three, and a very 
good dinner did I get, — the more relished, it may be, for 
my recent Baltic sea-sick experiences. We had lobster 
soup, boiled fish, pigeon pie, roast veal, &c., and among 
those things which followed were the finest strawberries I 
have ever seen. The manner of eating strawberries was 
new. A soup, or deep dessert-plate is taken, and more 
than half filled with the delicious fruit. Then finely 
powdered sugar, — and the northern sugar is the best 
in the \^orld, — this sugar is sifted over the berries, and 
then the plate is taken in charge, and strongly shaken by 
both hands, until the sugar so completely covers the fruit, 
that the red is "one white." Then cream, which is cream, 
bathes the whole in its unstinted abundance. This incor- 



296 JOURNAL. 

poration of tlie three makes one of tlie most delicious ter- 
tium quids in the world, and I recommend the manner of it 
to the thought and deed of every true fancier of the best in 
eating. Dinner dispatched, I started with my man Friday 
for the Palace. The objects of my special interest were the 
collections of Northern Antiquities, and the Museum of 
Thorwaldsen. Under the guidance of Prof. Thompson, 
whose departments are history, antiquities, and related mat- 
ters, I went through the cabinets and halls of Scandinavian 
remains ; and admirable and curious are they in relation to 
the subjects which their contents illustrate. These collec- 
tions have been made, — and are daily added to, — because of 
their immediate connection with Danish history, and are 
arranged after a manner to trace this from the earliest to the 
present day. They embrace a period of three thousand 
years, and are arranged under three periods. The first con- 
tains the specimens which belong to the Pagan period of 
the state. The second, such as characterize the Catholic. 
The third, the Protestant. It is utterly impossible for me 
to give you any notion of the perfect illustration of impor- 
tant historical periods which is furnished by this method of 
arrangement of such vast and admirably preserved materials, 
and which may be studied with entire ease, and real plea- 
sure. They form, and are, a history of a nation, traced 
through ages after ages, in permanent records, — the used 
material of every-day life. Nothing can be clearer than the 
steps of that progress by which Denmark is just what she 
is. Most striking harmonies are traced among the different 
periods of this history everywhere. You have all sorts of 
tools, — implements of industry, — of war, — articles per- 
taining to the table furniture, — to dress, especially its 
ornamental departments, as rings, bracelets, con^bs, &c. 
They have all their characteristic forms, but modified as 
taste advances. Especially is the material changed. At 
first, we have stone, — especially for tools of industry, war, 
&c. Then metal, — as copper, silver, gold. Last comes 



JOURIS-AL. 297 

iron, the most useful of all, but the least often found native, 
and the most difficult to be made malleable. The swords of 
the first period are of copper. They are very small, are 
without hilts, and the handle so small, so short, as to lead 
one to suppose that the race which used them was of much 
smaller stature, or had much smaller hands than its suc- 
cessors. Tools bear a remarkable resemblance to those now 
in use, — and so do stirrups, bridle bits, spurs, showing, 
as do the exhumations in Pompeii and Herculaneum, how 
completely has the present been anticipated, by or in, the 
long past. Ornamental articles are of gold, — solid gold. 
I saw one massive golden collar, made of two rings, one 
M'ithin the other, and moveable, large enough to go over the 
head, — and so coming together as to present the two rings 
as one, round the neck. They were truly splendid, and as 
bright as when made, and were dug from some of the ear- 
liest Scandinavian tumuli. What is of special interest in 
these collections, to me at least, is the fact that explorations 
are constantly in hand, and new things are every day, — 
yes, this day, brought to light. These were particularly 
j)ointed out. Now this collection is not the product of 
national curiosity, or worser, of national vanity. Its objects 
are sought for and preserved as portions of national history, 
which is ultimately the history of the race, and so belongs 
to all times, to all historical periods, — revealing the moral, 
— the intellectual, — the progress of civilization, from its 
starting point, and reaching in an unbroken series down to 
the latest times. Rarely have I been more satisfied, and 
taught, too, in my wanderings, than by the hours I passed 
in th:se halls of the long and great unknown. 

When I said taught, just now, I had vividly in memory 
my obligations to Prof. Thompson. We were all obliged 
to him. Visitors were constantly arriving, women and 
children, among the rest. I went some time earlier than 
others, and could see and observe most. The Professor 
spoke English well, with an accent, indeed, but always with 



298 JOUHNAL. 

perfect distinctness. And so lie did oilier languages, and 
adapted himself to his audiences as soon as he learned that 
his own language was not understood. Every new party 
was an object of interest to him, and he would repeat again 
and again -what he said, in order to gratify everybody. 
JNTothing was kept locked up, or omitted, which could please 
his large auditory. He said to me, " Professor, now see, — 
I show dis for de shild, — and see, they will like it." And 
again, " I show dis for the womens, and look at dem when 
I show dese." The effect was always produced. Interest 
was excited, and gratified. He looked to produce im- 
pressions which might be permanent and useful. Perhaps 
some of the agency was in the kindly, original, and very 
distinct manner in which he expressed himself. He took 
nie alone, when he was at leisure, and showed me objects of 
special interest, — but in the great amount he spoke to all, 
and for all. He shovv^ed me, in a room devoted to the sub- 
ject, antiquities of American aborigines, with specimens of 
existing works of art amongst them. What most please 
the traveller whose time allows him little room for parti- 
culars, however important, is the exhibition of character 
they present, — of national character. Here were most 
rare and curious specimens, in various arts, of a remote peo- 
ples, existing under various circumstances, — theologies, — 
arts, — sciences, — governments, — held in trust for the peo- 
ple, with a man of great and various learning placed over 
the whole, to secure to it the best possible arrangement, 
and security, and to present it freely to the whole people. 
Such means of popular culture cannot be otherwise than 
useful. In no part of Europe I have visited, and in no part 
of America, is the obligation of education so enforced, so 
despotically, I may say, insisted upon, as in Denmark. 
This is a small state, not more than two millions, and from 
this very cause is it the more able to see the requirements 
of government practically obeyed. But, with all this provi- 
sion for elementary learning, great collections in various 



JOTJKIS'AL. 299 

kinds are made, of what will interest and enlighten, — yes, 
elevate the public mind and heart, and to these the whole 
public, — men, women, and children, — may freely come. 
The royal patronage of science has been extended to Ame- 
rica, and the gold medal for astronomical discoveries, has 
been recently awarded by the King of Denmark to a daugh- 
ter of Massachusetts, Miss Maria Mitchell, of Nantucket, — 
the only living lady, so far as I know, who has, through Royal 
hands, received the more than regal testimonial of a science, 
which she has done so much to add to, and to illustrate. 

I begged Prof. T. to come to America, and showed him 
how easily it could be done. He laid his hand upon his 
abundant locks, and alluding to the silver among the brown, 
said, " Ah ! this says, no." I laughed, and asked his age. 
Why, children, he was but a boy to this aged friend of 
yours, standing here in a Danish Palace, thousands of 
miles from his home. I said Prof. T. is a learned man, but 
he is as simple, and playful as a child. He reminded me of 
the late Dr. Bowditch, and of Prof. Agassiz, in his hearty, 
warm, living, playful manner. Some men can afford to 
play. Their moral and intellectual wealth is too large, and 
too generously used, to allow the most perfect naturalness, 
simplicity, yes, playfulness, to lessen either our affection, or 
our respect. Do they not add to both ? 

I had given to Prof. T. at my entrance, my name and 
country, and it turned out not long afterward, that my 
name had been heard of before, for a gentleman stepped up 
to me, at a moment when I was unoccupied, and said he 
heard me give my name, and begged to ask if I were the 
Dr. Channing whose works he had read with so much in- 
interest. I told him I was not, that he was my brother, 
and that he had been dead several years. As he was turn- 
ing from me, I asked his address, saying it would give me 
pleasure to call on him, or to see him at my hotel. He 
nov\' came very near me, and in a low voice and confused 
manner, said something as a reason for not answering me, 



300 JOURNAL. 

and asked wliere I stopped. I told him ; wlien lie said lie 
was at the same hotel. As he was about to leave me, he 
said in a voice perfectly distinct and loud, " How is Nor- 
ton ? " I said I left him well ; and the stranger was lost in 
the crowd which syrrounded us. This affair impressed me 
much, and I have often thought of it since. This person 
had evidently read your uncle's writings with much interest. 
Yet he knew not of his death. He wanted to hear of him, 
and I was just so situated as to give him the information he 
seemed to desire. But I have not seen him since. Why his 
question about Mr. Norton, so emphatically put, as if he 
had been intimate with him, and as if he supposed that I 
was ? You cannot tell how natural, how simple was the ques- 
tion. But coming in such a place, in such a region, so far 
from the object of its regard, that it startled me not a little, 
and led me strongly to desire to know the person who so 
distinctly put it. His whole appearance and manner at- 
tracted me. He was pale, thin, of excellent face and per- 
son. You would have pronounced him an invalid, and still 
deeply interested in what was about him. He said ho 
had been in the country thirty years, and for reason ; and 
Prof. T. seemed very intimate with him. His manner was 
of a retired, shut-up student. Though he was quite com- 
municative, his manner said, if he had a secret, he could 
keep it. 

Tuesday, Jvly 6th. — Awake and up at four, or earlier. 
Toilet soon dispatched. I go to writing to keep things 
somewhat square. Notes by the way are taken, and used in 
making up the record of the preceding day. It is amusing 
to me to observe, how with a mile stone, or so, — the 
slightest hint, — we can get on quite comfortably, without 
which we should be constantly liable to get astray. Your 
diary writers do some service when they are faithful to note 
and memory; for what day's work in any life, is done, a true 
account of which would not be worth something? 

Up then at four, a. m., and at work. At seven, looking out 



JOURXAL. 301 

of my window, at a short distance opposite on the right, I 
saw a long line of Avomen sitting, dressed in white cape 
bonnets, and white aprons, busily engaged about something. 
Across the street, and farther to the right, other women in 
considerable numbers are moving about. As I am desirous to 
be something other than a sentimental traveller, I took hat 
and gloves, and sallied out. I at once found myself among a 
multitude of most respectable, nice looking, and nicely 
dressed women. Before each was a broad, shallow basket 
filled with live fish, and eels, flapping and squirming about 
at their pleasure. The women were nicely accommodated 
on chairs, each had her own place, and though in near con- 
tact, and each desirous to sell, yet every one was as quiet, 
and as comfortable as could be wished. I had seen fish 
women elsewhere, but these seemed of quite a different 
race. The fish were all new to me, if I except the haddock, 
with the print of the Saint's thumb on either side, and I 
may have been mistaken concerning its identity after all. 
The flounders were numerous, and various. Some were of 
a greenish, or yellow green colour, with bright red spots 
here and there. Some of different colours without spots. 
Crabs and shrimps were in abundance, and all alive. The 
Danes like sweet fish. I wandered about among these 
fishes, and these nice looking, well behaved fish women, for 
some time. They never looked at me, nor apparently at 
anybody else. I was so struck with this social feature or 
fact, — this apparent indifference among people sitting to- 
gether in the streets, that I spoke of it to a friend here. 
" Everybody," said he, " takes care of himself, but meddles 
not in the affairs of others." 

A canal comes up to, and runs along the street in which 
are the fish women, and in it were many boats with masts and 
sails. This canal runs entirely round the Christiansburg 
Palace, making it an island. In these boats were many 
women, younger looking than the fish merchants, and at a 
work I did not at first understand. I soon found they were 
26 



302 JOURXAL. 

getting out of confusion the fishing lines which had been used 
in the preceding day's cruise, and clearing the hooks of frag- 
ments of bait. The process was this. Two sticks as large 
as the finger, and a foot or so long, were stuck up on the 
boats' decks, or gunwales, and each hook was jiassed down 
one stick to the one before it, while the line was brought 
out between the sticks, so keeping lines and hooks distinct, 
and ready for use. The number of lines and hooks was 
great indeed, and large was the number of girls and men at 
work. But the women beat the men in hook cleaning 
and line clearing. 

I crossed the street beyond the fish women, and came at 
once to a long square, or market, so called, devoted to the 
sale of flowers, fruits, and vegetables. This was thus man- 
aged. The women come to town in carts in the early morn- 
ing, — I heard them on their way before I was up, — and 
take their places in lines, standing at the tail of the cart, 
and there arrange their commodities. I was much pleased 
with all this, so much variety, and still so much harmony. 
A still, low hum as if at school. Here w^ere the fruits of 
the early summer, — here cherries and strawberries were in 
abundance, and of the choicest kinds. All sorts of vege- 
tables, milk, and cream, and flowers in profusion, and of all 
colours and varieties. It was truly a busy, pleasant, beau- 
tiful scene. I wandered almost everywhere, examined 
everything, and was no more noticed than if I had been in 
America. I did not disturb the busy merchants. Next, I 
went to a large market, or place for the sale of meat. It is 
a long building divided ofl" into distinct rows or stalls, and 
in each was a woman, or were women, selling meat. Wo- 
men are the merchants here, as in the other departments of 
the provision business. I examined the meat. Veal is very 
large,- the calf not being killed the day after it is born, as in 
some countries of which we have knowledge. There is a 
curious passage in our sanitary legislation concerning veal. 
A bill was brought in setting forth that calves were killed 



JOUE.NAL. 303 

SO soon after birth, that they might not be regarded as 
healthful, or luxurious. Much debate followed. To meet 
the various difficulties involved in the passage or disposal of 
the bill, a sensible old farmer moved that no calves should 
be born until they were six weeks old. The farther con- 
sideration of the bill was postponed till the next legislature. 
Lamb and mutton, and beef, are small compared with the 
English or American, and more like those of Scotland. 
When customers are absent, the women sew or knit. Thus, 
in these important branches of business, women are solely 
engaged, and so have I found it elsewhere on the Continent. 
The men are in the army, the navy, in trade, and commerce, 
and mechanic arts and trades,, in various agricultural pur- 
suits. Men go fishing, the women stay at home Mdth their 
families, or come to the market. The men raise and kill 
animals, women sell the meat. All this seems to me to be 
well. It is a division of labour just where it is practicable, 
and useful. I have not seen so many persons together, 
doing more important social service, and looking, and be- 
having better, than I have seen in the markets of the Con- 
tinent, and these persons are women. I see women every- 
where in shops, selling all sorts of things, and after a man- 
ner so pleasing, so wholly satisfactory, that when you get 
among men at counters, and in all sorts of womanly work, 
one shrinks from the occasions of going to shops at all. I 
bought one day a pair of gaiters which the shop person, a 
woman, desired to try on me. She was of the largest, full- 
est European specimen. I declined the service, but down 
she went to the floor, and accomplished her purpose. I 
could not but think of Gibbon's love passage, when she at- 
tempted to rise. 

Breakfast over, I went again across the street to the Mu- 
seum of Thorwaldsen. A palace embracing a quadrangle 
has been built for his works. On its outer walls are frescoes 
representing the various arrangements made for his reception 
when he last came to Copenhagen. Every occupation is 



304 JOURNAL. 

here showed ; every employment of masses of the citizens, 
— what could in any way show the public feeling, is faith- 
fully and permanently recorded. It was a triumph decreed 
by a whole people to one who had made his country illus- 
trious over the world, and who had now come home again 
after a long absence to live over again his childhood, and 
early manhood, with those who started in the race with him, 
and whom he had never forgotten. He lies in the deepest 
place of his country's heart. He is the object of perpetual 
thought, and of its exj)ression. His works are repeated in 
every degree of reduction, and of cost, that the whole 
people may have some memorial of v/hat he did. I have 
met with few things which have been more present to me, 
or in more various ways, than is this interest in Thor- 
waldsen. 

His works fill a Palace built and arranged for them. 
The catalogue, before me, of his works, contains what had 
been collected and placed there in 1850. Additions are con- 
stantly made to them. In passing from room to room, you are 
impressed more and more with the amount of these works, 
accomplished in one life. Especially is one impressed by 
this when we remember what was Thorwaldsen's early life, 
and the difficulties he had to surmount in prosecuting his 
designs concerning art. He was born in 1770, in Copen- 
hagen. His father, a poor stone-cutter and carver, was a 
native of Iceland. He early shov/ed the direction of his 
mind in regard to the use he would make of it, and his 
father, in order to develope his power, put him to the school 
of design in the Academy of Fine Arts at Copenhagen, where 
he got the first prize. This was of great importance to him, 
as it enabled him, by a small pension connected with it, to 
prosecute his studies in Rome for four years. So destitute 
was he beyond this pension, that he proceeded to Rome in a 
Danish frigate by way of Gibraltar, Algiers, Malta, and 
Naples, and remained there thirty-three years. After this 
pension ceased, he was greatly straightened for the means of 



JOURNAL. 305 

living. But a friend appeared, Zoega, at a moment when a 
friend is most wanted. Thorwaldsen made a model of Jason. 
This met with universal applause. Hope, of Amsterdam, 
commissioned the artist to execute this colossal figure in 
marble. This was the beginning of a career which, in its 
progress, has produced the works it was my great privilege 
now to see. I have had for years a desire to see these works. 
I had read sketches of the life of their author, and many 
criticisms of his works. He was presented to my mind as 
an object of the deepest interest, — as a man having the 
inheritance of genius, and nobly and wisely using his vast 
possession. Murillo, more than any other artist, had affected 
me in the same way ; and Madrid and Copenhagen, where I 
might see them " at home," as I expressed it to myself, were 
among the places I proposed to visit when abroad. Upon 
entering this fitting abode of Thorwaldsen's genius, so mu- 
nificently appropriated by his native city, I was impressed 
with the varied magnificence of his style, its size, Its vastncss. 
Everything you see impresses you with the great thought 
which sought to be delivered in a language as solemn, as 
grand, as itself; and spoke through the everlasting marble, 
that its voice might be heard forever. And then, in the 
exquisite beauty before us, we have the smaller, the delicate, 
which shrinks before its own expression, and would gather 
around it that which might conceal some of its beauty. 
Everywhere, in everything, do you feel that in Thorwaldsen 
was the purity of nature herself. He could create infinite 
beauty, and in its virgin nakedness, look upon it with the 
childlike love and purity, with which nature regards her own 
works. Look where you will upon these works, and the 
feeling ever comes that you are among thoughts, not things. 
You must array yourself with the wings of Psyche, and, a 
winged soul, live and move, and have your being in this vast 
treasury of the soul's best accomplishments. We are made 
better by the daily, the hourly teachings of such works. 
We have the revelation of true beauty in ourselves, when 
26* 



306 JOUHXAL. 

we see and love the same which has come out of our own 
nature in another. The world is made better by such works, 
as by the blessed sun, the pure air, the vast, the ever new 
ministries of nature. Let us then come to Thorwaldsen's 
works, as to Thorwaldsen's very soul, — his heart of heart. 
Let us with a pure mind, and holy step, enter into the great, 
the venerable, the sacred place. 

It is no part of my purpose to give any account of the con- 
tents of the Museum of Thorwaldsen. The attempt would 
be absurd. We have finished works, — models in relief, 
— working models, — casts. They are in their diff'orent 
stages of progress, admirable teachers for the young artist 
of the steps by which great works have been done. Some 
have been carried forward by others, and finished by him- 
self. Some are entirely his own work. They fill thirty- 
four cabinets, or rooms, and many long corridors, and line 
the broad stairs. They are now colossal, and arrest your 
regard by th^ space they occupy ; and then detain you by 
the demand they make on your fixed attention. But the 
smallest have their claims, and will not let you^go until they 
have blessed you. In such scenes is the argument to the 
American for foreign travel. By it he escapes from the 
tyranny of expensive copy, to the free life of the original. 
He has faith in what he sees, for it is the true ; and its 
love, and its worship, can only elevate him, — bring 
him into direct sympathy with the questionless works of the 
highest genius, — revealing to him the whole consciousness 
of his own relations to the manifestations of the highest 
human power. I certainly have never known what it was 
to feel the capacities of my own nature, as in these the latest 
experiences of my life, in the midst and presence of such 
works as these of Thorwaldsen, and of kindred minds. 
Scarcely a day passes in which there is not something to 
mark that day, and make me grateful for it. Would that I 
could move others to enter into such labours, — to love 
them, and so make their own, what they always bring with 



JOURNAL. 307 

them. Who would not stop on his way through the rough 
and stormy Baltic to visit the shrine of Thorwaldsen, — 
that double shrine which contains his silent body, and the 
ever living, ever speaking accomplishments of his exalted 
genius ? 

Besides the works of Thorwaldsen, the Museum contains 
others in art, and in all its kinds, which in his faithful life 
he had collected. His books are here. They belonged to 
him. They fill eight large cabinets, and are of great inter- 
est. These had been his companions, — his teachers, — his 
intimate friends. But in themselves they have earnest 
claims to regard, and the visitor to Thorwaldsen must not 
neglect what was so truly his. 

I visited Thorwaldsen's grave. If his works deserve a 
Palace for their preservation, what more ajDpropriate place of 
sepulture for his mortal remains, than the privileged precincts 
of royalty ? His body lies in the quadrangle of the Palace 
of Art, and nothing else is there than absolutely belongs to 
the single purpose to which the place is devoted. The 
whole space is covered with stone, so smooth and so accu- 
rately fitted, as almost to seem one piece. Surrounding that 
spot beneath which the body lies, and of shape correspond- 
ing to the tomb, the earth is covered with black stone. 
Just over the body is an enclosure with granite sides and 
ends a few inches high, on which are slightly cut the follow- 
ing words : — 

BERTHEL THORWALDSEN: 

F. Den 19 Nov. 1770. 

D. Dea 24 March, 1844. 

Born 19 Nov. 1770. 
Died 24 March, 1844. 

The space thus enclosed is filled with flowers, in full 
bloom, kept the whole season fresh by the care daily 
bestowed upon them. The walls of the Palace forming the 



308 JOUENAL. 

quadrangle, are covered with frescoes of Thorwaldsen's 
works, not for ornament, but showing that the enclosure 
which they form, is the everlasting resting place of their 
author. Here, in this broad space, beneath the unob- 
structed light of heaven, are the remains of a master-spirit 
of the age in which he lived ; and there, around him, within 
those walls, rest safely his works, in the freshness of imper- 
ishable marble, and in the promises of immortality. How 
simple, — how sublime, — how grand is this place. I re- 
member no such intensity of stillness in the broad day as 
was there. I moved v^dth the lightest tread, lest I should 
disturb the deep repose. Nothing was alive here but those 
beautiful flowers, — the fitting coronation, — was it not ? of 
such a genius, and of such a life. 

I soon after left the Museum, but have not yet left 
Thorwaldsen. My next visit was. to the new Cathedral of 
Copenhagen. This speaks most eloquently for the genius of 
her son. In the tympanum of the pediment is a St, John 
in basso-relievo, preaching in the wilderness. In the niches 
of the vestibules, are the greater prophets. In the frieze, 
Christ bearing the cross. In the interior of the church are 
the twelve Apostles. In the high altar, Christ himself. I had 
seen their models in the Museum, yesterday. I was now to 
see them as finished, in marble, by Thorwaldsen himself. 
It was because of what I had heard before leaving home, 
that I stopped on my voyage on the Baltic, to see these 
renowned figures. The figure of Christ is the centre of 
attraction in this wonderful group. He is in the chancel, 
colossal in size, with his head gently bent forward, and his 
arms extended. The expression of the figure, that of his 
countenance, form, and action, is that of earnest invitation, 
of entreaty, — along with the deepest sympathy for its 
objects. It fills the whole chancel with its divine presence. 
The chancel had nothing in it but the Christ. With sin- 
gular good taste, a true feeling of the subject, this whole 
large portion at the end of the church was left without any- 



jrornxAL. 309 

thing which could, for a moment, attract the attention from 
the sole figure there. There was nobody in the church but 
myself and the guide, — nothing to break the deep silence 
and solemnity of .the time. The church is very large. You 
are impressed with the extent- of space embraced by its 
walls, — and the harmony between it and what it contains, 
and which so fills it as to prevent any sentiment of vacancy. 
There is no glaring light, an impertinence so often encoun- 
tered in places for public assemblings. The light is in the 
subject before you. In it is embodied the idsa of the mis- 
sion of Christ, — his mission of love, — and you read in the 
whole, one word, " come." The disciples are on each side 
of the Christ, in front of as many niches. John stands at 
the head of the right side of the Cathedral, and is of sur- 
passing beauty. Mathew also struck me as singularly beau- 
tiful. The bag, in which he had collected custom, lies at 
his feet. The martyrs of this great company have the instru- 
ments of their death by them. Christ difi'ers from all the 
rest in losing the individual in the possession of the univer- 
sal. There is nothing, so to speak, distinctive, or which 
separates him from his divine office, — his life, — his death, 
— his resurrection, — his ascension. The kingdom of heaven 
is the idea which fill men, and his word is, — 

COME UNTO ME. 

I next called to see Mr. R., the American Consul here, 
and the only agent of the government. I called to pay to 
him my respects. He received me with courtesy and kind- 
ness, ofi'ering to serve me in any way in his power, — in 
short, gave me great pleasure, and much information on 
subjects of interest, making my call a very pleasant and use- 
ful one. 

Another call was on -, to whom Mr. gave 

me a letter of introduction. My call was soon returned. 
I hardly know how to express myself about this visit. It 
'was so hearty, so cordial, — so just as you would always 



310 JOTJIINAL. 

have such, a visit to be. Mr. was delighted to hear of 

his old friend again, and from one who knew him, and who 
had so lately seen him. He endeavoured to express how 
much he was indebted to me for bringing 'back again, in so 
much freshness, the old and happy times of his early life, 

Avhen he and " lived together." " This was 

more than thirty years ago," he said, " in , in which 

more than semi-barbarous corner of Africa we both held 
official stations. The plague came, and we went into the 
country, took a house, shut ourselves up, as is the practice 
during the plague, and alternately kept house month by 
month. In — 's month he had supreme, and ques- 
tionless controul. Then came mj month, to play the despot ; 
and he was not to say a word about my rule, and we were 
as happy as we could be. I cannot tell you how happy we 
were, and how happy you make me by bringing it all 
so freshly to mind. Do tell me how I can serve you. 
Come and dine with us at four. I know not what we may 
have, but you shall have just what we can give you. I 

want to show you 's letters, which I have kept 

for years. After dinner we will drive into the country, — to 
Palace, and to garden, — to Tivoli, — to the Cemetery, and 
to the Battle-Field, — anywhere, — everywhere. I am glad 
to see you, and only tell me what you want to see and to 
do, and I will do all I can to make Copenhagen pleasant 
to you." 

I went at the hour, and was introduced to Mrs. , 

after which Mr. continued to say everything to make 

me feel perfectly at home, and to reassure me of his strong 
desire to make my visit to his native city both useful and 
agreeable. Now, here was something, was it not much? for 
memory. Out of a good and honest heart had come things 
which I shall not forget. Thorwaldsen had filled me with 
thought, the deepest, the purest, the best. Here was living 
kindness, genuine courtesy, pouring itself out in streams so 
clear, so true, that I could not but feel the deep refresh- 



JOURNAL. all 

ment. Here Avas true feeling, and if there is anything wel- 
come to the human soul, it is that which comes to it in far 
off lands, and when and where everything else tells you 
how truly a stranger you are. Here was a man speaking to 
me in my mother tongue, — and from the high rank he held 
in his own country, giving to my position there, just what 
rendered to me important facilities in carrying out my 
objects. 

At four, then, I went to Mr. 's, where the plea- 
sure of my first introduction was increased by miking the 
acquaintance of his daughter, a highly pleasing young lady, 
whose husband is an officer in the Danish navy, and at sea, 

but daily expected home, and to Mr. 's son, a 

very agreeable looking, well informed, pleasant young man. 

My friend Mr. 's letters had been collected, and 

Mr. looked them over, pointed out passages to 

me, and talked again of the long past, in the same fresh, 
happy manner as in the morning. Dinner was announced. 
I gave my arm to his very handsome daughter, who talks 
excellent English, with a nice Danish accent, which adds to 
rather than hurts it, and we took our seats at table. I tell 
the whole story. No notice had been given that a guest 
from a foreign country had been invited, and the family din- 
ner was just as it had been arranged in the morning. And 
this was all the more welcomed by me. Soup came first, of 
course, as well as in course. These soups we know little of. 
They are made with apparently very little meat, but with 
many vegetables. They are perfectly clear, transparent, and 
slightly coloured yellow, are served very hot, and, though 
novel to the stranger, are very acceptable. Next came 
round a dish, with something arranged in overlapping slices, 
the length of the dish, with the silver fork with which each 
helps himself, or herself. This is the true way of serving a 
dinner, — the only way. You take what you want and no 
more, or nod your negative. There is no asking about this 
or that, — white meat, or dark, — wing, leg, &c., through 



312 JOUKNAL. 

the whole anatomy, — no useless calling. When you have 
finished, there is the end of it. You lay your knife and 
fork upon your plate, and it disappears. We borrow all 
sorts of fashions, ridiculous, or other, from the Old World ; 
why not some of their eating customs ? It would, on the 
score of ease and real comfort, make all the difference 
in the world. But of the dish over my left shoulder. The 
servant tires. I took the fork, turned over two or three 
slices. They were moist, red, slippery, and firm. The cus- 
tom abroad is, if you do not like, or have a question con- 
cerning such matters, to put the fork into its place, and look 
steadily for an instant or so, at your empty plate. In other 
words, do nothing. But I felt so much at home there, away 
in Denmark, — had been made so truly, if not technically, 
at home, in that most hospitable and honoured state, and 
especially in this most excellent city of Copenhagen, — 
and still more especially in the family, — every member of 
it, which I was that moment visiting, — that I almost un- 
consciously asked, if the dish at my side was not salmon, 
and if it had been cooked. The question was expletory. 
The answer, it was salmon, and uncooked. I was troubled, 
for I had been told what the dinner would 7iot be, — one 
prepared for me, — and I had agreed to eat it, whatever it 
might be. I was troubled, for I was obliged to decline the 
salmon. In the Baltic steamer, uncooked, but pickled her- 
rings, were served at breakfast. I was asked to eat of 
them, and was told they had been preserved in salt water, 
and were excellent. I knew herrings lived in salt water. 
I tried, but it was no go, — or the fish would not go. I 
got no encouragement from remembered smoked beef, — 
smoked salmon, — salt fish, — nor even Westphalia hams, 
which, at their home, I was told, are never boiled. To me the 
herring mouthful was odious. The salmon I could not try. 
What, in the name of all eating, is more terrible than to 
find something at table, at a strange table, in a strange land, 
and to fill your mouth with it, and which you find you can- 



JOUKNAL. 313 

not possibly swallow ? A young lady, not of the " land of 
the olive," but still from "Down East," was one evening at 
our table, on which were olives, and she saw with what relish 
and praises they were eaten. Being asked to partake, she 
did, but, not knowing the nature of the fruit, she took more 
than one into her mouth at once. Never was mouth, unac- 
customed to such contents, put to such strange resources to 
dispose of them. Much beauty w^as lost in the conflict 
which ensued. At length the luxury was swallowed, stones 
and all, and I shall always have question if this lady ever 
ventured upon such eating again. Three, you know, make 
the sessame of olive eating. Of the number in my fair 
friend's experiment, I am not informed. I said I was trou- 
bled. I was grieved, and the whole table was grieved. 
We soon, however, all of us, laughed intensely, and a merrier 
dinner-table I have not often seen. I ruietly eat German 
bread, while my friends enjoyed the uncooked fish. 

Another event. "Wine! Will you drink wine. Sir ? " 
This, I saw, was hard. Another salmon. 

I simply answered, " No." Just as I had done a thousand 
times before. 

Up went hands, and out poured words of heartfelt aston- 
ishment. " Not drink wine ! You will, of course, drink 
cogniac," — the word here for brandy. 

I said, *' No ! " again. 

"Not brandy ! Why ! you neither eat nor drink. What 
do you do ? " 

In the meantime, Mrs. left the table, and returned 

bringing some sliced meat, not as hot as the soup, indeed, 
but very good. Peas, and roasted pigeons followed, and 
who could have asked for more ? Most delicious strawber- 
ries, with nice cream, and sugar, made the dessert. And 
so the dinner ended ; glasses, mine filled with water or 
wine, were touched, healths drank, and we rose from the 
table. 

Oh, how you would have groaned in spirit had you been 
27 



314 JOUENAL. 

with, me in Copenhagen, and at that dinner ! The rainbow 
would have faded before the intensity and variety of your 
colours, — and how, in going home to the Royal, would 
your exclamations have waked the echoes of Den- 
mark ! 

Now, to me, this dinner was of the deepest interest. 
Every fact in it was a whole chapter of domestic life under 
every possible phase of variety and difference, to what was 
native to me. What should I have learned had I been invi- 
ted four days before to dine at 7, p. m., with the fashionable 
world of this grand old city ? I should have learned 
nothing to be compared with the simple truth, the undis- 
guised hospitality and confidence of this family of true men 
and women, — true friends. It is of the best remembered, 
and the best valued of any dinner I have eaten in Europe. 
It is side by side with that Moscow dinner at Prof. Fischer's, 
for, though there was more form in the latter, it sj)oke for 
old Russia, yes, hospitable old Russia, as did this for the 
true, every-day life of Denmark. 

The carriage was now called. I was furnished with a 
nice warm overcoat, a protection from the day's dust, and 
for the evening's cold, and forth we started for the country. 
My friend rejoices in fine horses, and liveried coachmen and 
footmen, — silver lace for hat, &c. It Avas a barouche, we 

drove in, thrown entirely open. Mr. seemed to know 

every gentleman and lady we met or passed, in coach or on 
foot. His knowledge was not a sinecure, for to every one 
he knew, he raised his hat, not touching it merely, but taking 
it fairly off his head, and with a graceful sweep carrying it 
off at arms length. It was done with great ease, but it 
seemed to me more of a toil than pleasure, and that it was 
a custom much to the benefit of the hat-maker. It is a 
custom which prevails all over the Continent. With us in 
America, and it is much the same in England, a jerk of the 
head forward, backward, or laterally, is the measure of our 
street courtesy of recognition. If we stop, we shake hands. 



JOURNAL. 315 

and say, Ou ar yu, — uttered in a single syllable, — 
Anglice, How are you ? I shall never forget how an Italian 
artist, and scholar, was confounded by this word. He tried 
hard to get it, but had not succeeded when I last saw him. 
It was not in the dictionary, and he never could dig or drag 
it out of his mouth. We of the "West shake hands. The 
East and the North folk kiss, — men and women. I once 
offered my hand to a lady at parting, she shrank away 
utterly ignorant of what I meant. With Shakespeare some- 
what altered, we may say : — 

Hands at the East give hats. 

But our West heraldry is hands, not hats. 

Our drive was full of novelty to me, and so, full of inter- 
est. I saw on every hand more than I can tell. The country 
is fine, and everywhere cultivated. A vast deal of grain is 
grown, and has its market in England. Water is every- 
where, and bridges innumerable. This gives to the summer 
field and forest, the richest, fullest green. The grass is as 
rich as it is in damp England. Water is distributed every- 
where, where natural irrigation is wanting. We stopped at 
the principal cemetery. The arrangements for the dead are 
simple, and to my mind, more appropriate than the elabo- 
rateness, and large displays Ave so often meet with elsewhere. 
The nature of the country determines, somewhat, the char- 
acter of these places. It is very flat, and what surface might 
do for the picturesque, if such be desirable, is much wanting 
here. Mourners are seen on all sides at the graves of 
friends, to renew flowers, or to dress the growing ones, — 
and strangers are here, like myself, to look for customs and 
observances in foreign lands. My friends took me to the 
place prepared for their final home, and wdiere had been 
gathered together those whom they had honoured, and loved, 
and lost. If such, as they are, or have been to me, do they 
not deserve both reverence and love, — an everlasting mem- 
ory, and ever coming flowers ? We visited the battle 
grounds of the armies not long since gathered here to settle 



316 JOURNAL. 

important national questions. A decaying, uninhabited 
palace was an object of interest. A Dowager Queen had 
lately died in it, and the moveables had been sold at auction. 
The question was entertained of using the palace for a hos- 
pital, but I believe is abandoned. I saw on the grounds, 
near the old palace, a nurnber of wooden houses, — two 
uprights with a connecting beam, — and asked what was their 
use. They did not look ornamental. I was told they were 
used to hang out to air the palace beds and bedding. This 
brought to mind that I had seen a precisely similar contri- 
vance, and in active use too, across the way from the Cathe- 
dral in Copenhagen, as I stood upon the steps of the church 
waiting for the guide to come to show me the sculptures of 
Thorwaldsen. I liked this custom very much, and we 
might introduce it with much benefit ; especially into some 
hotels, where we are told the traveller sometimes sleeps not 
only on the same bed, but under the same bedding, which 
a few hours before may have wrapped some weary prede- 
cessor. The grounds about this old palace are magnificent, 

— hill, valley, rocks, water, old forests as green as if not 
over half a century grown, — the grass, the richest velvet. 
Everything strong and grand as from the most generous 
hands of nature, and more striking from its neighbouring 
human desolation and decay. 

" Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon." 

How true is poetry to the whole story of fact ! There was 
one thing in these grounds for whose beauty as well as use 
I was specially grateful. This was a spring at the mouth of 
a cell in the side of a hill, everlastingly shaded by the 
dense forest trees and overhanging rocks, and from which I 
drank with the zest of the holiest hermit of them all. I 
spoke of the number of people in the streets, as we drove 
along. So it was with the road. Walkers, riders, drivers, 

— rich and poor, men, women and children, were all aim- 
ing at the same point. We reached, on our return from the 



JOURNAL. 317 

Palace, the objects of such general attraction. These were 
public gardens, — with slight, but very nice buildings for 
those who wished the accommodations ; and every out-door 
means of amusement and relaxation. What most attracted 
me were the numbers of persons selling strawberries, not in 
half pint, or so called pint boxes, and small at that, with a 
dozen or two large berries atop. But large baskets Avere on 
all sides, full of splendid fruit clear through, and at a price 
which everybody could easily, cheerfully pay. My friends 
bought a large specimen of the very finest, which the foot- 
man put into the carriage for our evening meal. Here they 
are bought at first hand, and are always fresh. I was among 
the people here, and it did my heart good to see such ample 
provision for the public amusement. Here toil was at rest, 
and here some of its products were used to give tone and 
health, and cheerfulness for the succeeding labour. There 
may have been excess with some, but the general character 
was of good humour, — a diff'used pleasure, which is the 
severe antagonism to individual uneasiness. There is giving 
and taking in such social reunions ; and where these are, in 
close company with them are generosity, liberality, kindness. 
We in America have got to learn something about all this. 
Work ! work ! ! work ! ! ! is the everlasting rule with us. 
There is not enough real, downright genuine play for an 
exception. Some reformer, it is to be hoped, will one day 
arise and take the people with him, and teach them what is 
joy, what is play, and hov/ they may get its means, and 
truly use them. I have spoken of this before, but it will 
bear repetition. 

We got back to Copenhagen in the long twilight, and had 

tea with our freightage of delicious fruit. Mrs. , the 

daughter of my friend, had promised to sing and play in 
the evening. She played Danish music, sang national songs, 
waltzes, &c,, and to my mind admirably well: She sang 
one song which was exquisitely beautiful. It was a song of 
home, and I have never listened to anything more touching. 
27* 



318 JOUHNAL. 

She told me she would get for me a copy of it in the morn- 
ing, and send it to you, and I feel sure she will not disap- 
point me. This portion of my day's visit to this most 
excellent family, lost none of its interest to me in its 
lengthened hours. At ten I left these friends, and soon 
reached my now very dull, solitary hotel. 

The course of things at the hotel is to dine at the table 
d'hote, if we please ; breakfast, alone in your parlour ; and 
as to tea, with me, to eat in the same quarters, fruit. I 
very soon tire of this life. It is made tolerable by writing 
about what I have seen.pr heard in the day, generally in the 
very early morning. It is not etiquette to speak at table 
to one's side or opposite neighbours, unless spoken to, and 
who, ever in such an arrangement, is to speak first ? I have 
not literally said a single word at table, except to a servant, 
and for the most part he does not understand a word I 
say. I do not believe I should say a word if I lived at the 
Koyal a year. The dinner is for any, and for everybody, — 
not at all confined to the household. It is, therefore, a 
moveable feast in more senses than one. People come and 
go at pleasure, and so are never the same. To eat then, 
and this generously, and to drink much wine, is the order 
of the feast. Now as I do nothing, to speak, at this last, 
I have less amusement than the rest. The effect of wine 
declares itself, f^r you know the phrase, " when wine is iw, 
wit is, or comes, out. The liberty of speech is certainly en- 
larged then. What is said, of course I know not. But 
there is laugh in it. My French is very small, and my 
Danish is very nothing ; so I get on if not positively stupid, 
certainly not very luminously gay. 

Wednesday, July. — Mr. R.'s son called on me at half 
past 7, A. M., to visit some hospitals, to the heads of which 
I received introductory letters from his father. It was a 
long walk, and Copenhagen is not famed for smooth side- 
walks. Hard, hard, are the pavings of the streets. But 
there is a curb stone about a foot wide, which is very at- 



JOURNAL. 319 

tractive. But you must not set your foot upon it, unless 
it falls to your share by the strict law which regulates street 
walking. A stranger does not readily fall into any course 
of locomotion to which he is unaccustomed. He is ignorant, 
it may be, of the rule. In England the rule is to walk and 
to drive to the left. In America, to the right. So strict is 
the law in Copenhagen, that Majesty itself, I was told, 
must conform to it. I generally walked with my courier, 
who is a Dane, " and to the manner born," but had as much, 
as he could do to keep me within the street rule. As I 

went through Square, some fire companies were out 

with their engines and hose, for exercise. I have never 
seen such apologies for fire apparatus in all my wanderings. 
The engines were very small. The hose in proportion, and 
the height to which the water was thrown, did not begin to 
reach the roofs of houses experimented upon. There was 
this comfort, however, in the case. There is so much brick 
and mortar, and stone, and so little wood in the Danish, 
house architecture, that I defy a fire to get beyond the easy 
reach of the fire companies. 

The first hospital I visited, has Prof. T. at its head. 
This is a large institution, and its wards were occupied with 
many patients. I went through the medical wards, and 
found their arrangements good, securing comfort to the sick, 
and faithful medical regard. Prof. T., with his family, re- 
side in the hospital. This is the case in other hospitals on 
the Continent I have visited, and has its advantages. 

My next visit was to a Maternite Hospital, under the care 
of Dr. Lever, if I spell his name correctly. This hospital 
entirely pleased me, and he must be fastidious indeed, who 
is not wholly satisfied with it. I have seen no approach to 
it in all I have seen of hospitals in all their kinds. There 
has been much fatal fever in this house, and successful 
measures have been adopted to prevent its recurrence. The 
building is a grand one. It was grateful to be permitted to 
visit it, — to examine it, and to learn the results of treats 



320 JOURNAL. 

ment in it. For three years not a case of fever has occurred. 
How has this been brought about ? 

The hospital is so large, and so arranged, that one-half of 
it only is used at a time, viz., for six months. The patients, 
at the end of this period, pass into the other half which has 
been purified for half a year. Not only so. There are 
more rooms in the occupied part than are commonly used. If 
occasion require, a patient may be placed in one of these 
rooms, and the room thus left empty, may be thoroughly 
cleansed for another patient. Every patient has a room, 
not a small, cell-like affair, but a lofty, large sized apart- 
ment to herself. No patient ever sleeps on a bed which 
has just been used by another. It is taken to pieces, picked 
over, washed, as is the sacking, &c., as soon as the patient 
is discharged. The bedsteads are made of iron. 

Beside all this provision for the safety of patients, ven- 
tilation is made as perfect as possible. Each room has a 
ventilator at the top of the room. This is large, and has 
direct reference to the size of the apartment. Very often 
the opening for the escape of the air,, is made with so little 
regard to cubic contents, the size of the room, that the air is 
imperfectly changed. The process in these cases is so slow, 
that the impure air is so blended with the pure, which I 
should have said is admitted near the floor, as to be more or 
less MiYiit for healthful respiration. In the Copenhagen 
system, which I believe is Reed's of London, the foul air 
passes by the ventilating opening into a tube which ends in 
a foul- air chamber in the top of the building. From this it 
passes by a free, direct chimney, dov\ai into a room in the 
cellar, in the centre of which is a furnace, in which is kept a 
fire through the whole year. It is kept in full blast all the 
time by the air from the foul-air chamber above. In this 
way this air is sure to be consumed, as there is no other 
source of air to keep up the fire ; all other draft being cut 
ofi" by the insulation of the furnace chamber. Dr. L. asked 
me if I did not feel a current of air on my head, my hat 



JOUTIXAL. 321 

being off. I said yes, for this was evident enough. In this 
way is ventilation secured. But whatever the philosophy, 
the effect is certain. There has been no fever in the hos- 
pital since this, and the rest of the system for health, have 
been adopted. Is it not a noble worli to save from so much 
disaster as has so often occurred in these institutions ? And 
what class of patients deserve more, more faithful use of 
means to prevent a disease which so often produces death ? 
Few visits have I made which have given me so much 
pleasure as has this one, and to Dr. L. how great are my 
obligations. 

In describing the Russian hospitals, it was said that in 
the wards, fires are constantly kept in the stove. The con- 
struction of this stove prevents its getting heated by the 
amount of fire necessary to secure ventilation. The Ameri- 
can furnace prevents the use of this means of ventilation. 
This furnace supplies the ward with heat by the hot air 
which passes out of the registers. This would be intolerable 
in summer. There are no fire places, as the heat in winter 
would be wasted by the draft which would be produced to, 
or in them. The ventilation in such wards is by ventilators 
in doors, or in the cornices, for ordinarily there is not air 
enough any way in hot weather to produce currents, and as 
the outward air, at night for instance, is cooler than that in 
the wards, the draft is downwards, towards the ward 
through the ventilator, and the foul air from the sick, es- 
pecially in surgical wards, is rather accumulated than driven 
off. Again there is not always such due proportion between 
the cubic feet of space enclosed by the walls of the ward, 
and the size of the ventilating holes, as will secure thorough 
changes in the air. This is another source of mischief from 
our modes of ventilation. What the effect may be of all 
this in prolonging disease, or preventing recovery, I have no 
means of judging. The motives for the present method, 
are safety, convenience, and economy. These may be ad- 
mitted in private houses, the inmates of which are for the 



322 JOUEXAL. 

most part in health ; but the question may be entertained if 
they should have much or any influence when the well-beinf^ 
of great public charities may be involved. 

This was my last day in this ancient city. I called on 
my friends to say farewell. The music and the song of 
Home, promised the day before, were all ready, and directed 
to you. Those friends remained to me as when I first saw 
them. Had arranged parties for me to-day and for to- 
morrow, and other drives. But the traveller's lot is mine, 

— to make friends and to leave them. I shall never forget 
these. At 2, p. m., I take the steamer Schleswig for Kiel. 

A moment more to Denmark. The soil and culture here 
tells their own story. I have rarely seen on the Continent 
anything which compares with these things here. The bar- 
ley is very productive, — rye is good, — buckwheat excel- 
lent. This last particularly belongs, as far as I have seen, 
to Holstein. The fields are beautiful with the red stem, 
and the white flower of this plant. As soon as, and wher- 
ever you catch the land in this part of the Baltic, and are 
sufficiently near it, you have its eA-idences of productive- 
ness, and the beauty of its natural arrangements. I saw in 
the early morning exquisite reaches of forest and grove, — 
and long vistas lying between these, and neighbouring hills, 

— the deep green of grain, grass, and leaf, making space 
and height as beautiful as it has been my lot to look upon. 
It was now deep shade, and now the level morning sun was 
piercing the deep reaches referred to, and new beauties were 
revealed. You wanted to stop the steamer to land, to build, 
and live, and move, and have your being, in these scenes of 
beauty and of peace. I thought I was looking upon the 
wide acres of some rich English lord, and that I should 
hear the rustling of the deer in the copses, and under- 
growths around. This scenery continued quite till we were 
in Kiel. 

I was everywhere impressed with the simplicity of living 
in Denmark. It was my good fortune to travel with one 



joirRNAL. 323 

thoroughly acquainted with it, and in steamer, and on railway, 
I met with others w^ho made me their debtor by their gen- 
tlemanly bearing, and the information communicated. Said 
one, " We have few very rich. Our means are moderate, 
but possessed by many. We have but few paupers. You 
see no drunkards. Our government is simple. We have a 
King, — a w^ritten constitution, a wide, if not universal 
suffrage, — an army of about thirty thousand, — a compul- 
sory system of education, which allows, indeed, those to 
pay for instruction who please ; but all others must send 
their children to school, or pay the penalty of truancy. The 
King is rarely mentioned, and is not a frequent visitor to the 
metropolis ; — is about forty ; has been twice married, and 
been divorced twice, his present being a questionable wife. 
He has had no children by any of his wives ; and as there 
seems to be something uncertain in the state of Denmark, 
certain high contracting powers have recently disposed of 
succession elsewhere, — in more protocol phrase, have ' set- 
tled it.' " 

In my way to the steamer my attention was attracted by 
a number of hulks of ships of the line, and others, whiten- 
ing in the hot sun. I was carried back in less than an 
instant of time, to the destruction of the Danish fleet by 
Nelson, lest it should be used by France against England. 
These hulks seem all like the ghosts of the old fleet, risen 
to shame that act, of what some thought an unnecessary, 
w^anton exercise of brute force. Then came Nelson's de- 
mand for ivax, instead of an off'ered wafer, to seal his des- 
patch to the Danish government, w^hich informed that 
government, " that his Troy was half destroyed," as if the 
"Majesty of Denmark" wanted the knowledge, or would 
ascribe to hurry, or any cause, the use of a wafer. And 
then came pressing upon the memory the arrival into 
America of a British Minister, named Jackson, who, from 
some connection with the Copenhagen affair, had got, by 
our haters of England, and lovers of Bonaparte, the eupho- 



324 JOURNAL. 

nioiis sobriquet of " Copenhagen Jackson." The British 
government, indeed, had endeavoured to mollify the repub- 
lic, by sending its Minister in a ship called the Rose, as if a 
ship by any other name, as Defiance, Vengeance, Spitfire, — 
would not have smelt as sweet. I remembered Mr. Jack- 
son, how a Federalist friend of mine had of him a portrait 
by Stuart, and how I had dined with that Minister at that 
friend's house, and how the burning of the old Exchange, 
disturbed the " order of our going" from that dinner table. 
There's nothing like foreign travel to set the mind to work 
about home matters, of no matter what date or nature. I 
have passed hours in London streets in tracing resemblances 
between the people driving on foot and carriage, through the 
streets, as mad ; and the people at home. Hartley, you know, 
makes Association one of the two foundation princij^ies in 
the Nature of Man. With me its activity produces very 
curious results, by showing relations which it is not always 
convenient to declare. I sometimes thought that the doc- 
trine of Original Sin might have its illustration, if not 
cause, in this principle. 

Thursday, July. — A most beautiful trip was it to Kiel. 
The sea was like glass. The steamer excellent, — accom- 
modations unusually good. The cabin was warm, and I 
adjourned to a sofa in the dining saloon, where I slept till 
half past two, a. m., when I went on deck, and staid till 
five, when w^e reached Kiel. I made an acquaintance, a 
young Dane, who knew everything about the country, and 
told me a great deal about Denmark, — the Baltic, Islands, 
&c. About seventy miles from Copenhagen is an island 
named Mohen. Its front, like some great promontory, rises 
perpendicularly out of the sea, and to a commanding height. 
As you approach, it becomes constantly more striking, and 
at length you see the whole side surface presenting a mural 
elevation as white as snow, and closely resembling the Clifis 
of Dover. Still nearer, lines are seen crossing it obliquely 
from top to bottom, which are formed of dwarf shrubs, 



JOURNAL. 325 

evergreens, growing in their direction. At length the hori- 
zon, that outline which seemed quite level, is found to be 
irregular, — castellated formations in one point, rounded 
at the top, like the crater of an extinct volcano, while 
pointed minarets shoot above their neighbours. You cannot 
tell how varied and how beautiful everything here is. The 
scale was large, — the sky bounding it above, and at the 
projecting bluff, while the wide Baltic washed the bases of 
these seeming rocky-mountains. When nearer, the outline 
was found to be made by fir trees, of the deepest green, 
forming a crown for that upon which they grew, the setting 
sun shedding its light over all. At length we rounded the 
promontory. My Danish companion said he had frequently 
visited the island with guides, for pleasure, and pointed out 
spots of more special beauty ; and that with much relish 
they had drank their champagne there. 

Kiel is beautifully situated on a bay of the Baltic, in the 
Duchy of Holstein. It has 14,000 inhabitants, a University, 
in which, in 1832, the students were two hundred and fifty, 
— in 1846, one hundred and ninety-one, — a library of 
.100,000 volumes or more, an observatory, a public garden, 
a hospital, a royal palace, — and among other churches, that 
of St. Nicholas, which has special regard. I hope you will 
duly thank me for this long drain upon the authorities, for 
though I am "ill at these numbers," I, seriously, have 
studied accuracy about Kiel. There has been steadily a 
disposition to avoid, in these sketches of foreign travel, the 
appearance even of sentimentalism, and if there be a depar- 
ture, in any sense or degree, from this purpose, it is hoped 
it will be pardoned, or regarded as an exception, which you 
know is necessary for the sustentation of any rule. Let me 
give an anecdote. I was detained in Kiel, only while the 
locomotive wsLsJired up. While sitting on the piazza of the 
hotel, something happened illustrative of the genius and 
industry of the burghers of this ancient city. It solved the 
problem of how many men are necessary to drag and drive 
28 



S26 JOUENAL. 

a cow, whicli cow has a very long tail. There were two 
men engaged. One held in his hand a rope of much length ; 
its other end was fastened to the cow's horns. The other 
man had the tail in one hand, and a fragment of a board in 
the other. The action. If they both pulled together in a 
straight line, which could only be in opposite directions, and 
which, in their zeal, they unconsciously did, and equally, it 
is clear there would be an equilibrium of forces, and the 
cow, the body to be moved, would be at rest. If they 
drew in different directions, and alternately, there would be 
a decomposition of forces, and the direction of the moving 
body, the cow again, wou.ld be a diagonal. The enticements 
of the bit of board, and the violent shakings of the tail, 
which were constantly in practice, produced a confusion 
which none of the philosophies can explain. Now under 
these various appliances the cow was set in motion, and 
described as fine a zigzag as any Virginia fence maker could 
have desired. Do not these men of Kiel deserve a medal 
from his majesty of Denmark, their ruler, for so illustrious 
a discovery in science ? It is a great matter to solve a prob- 
lem, let it be what it may ; and we leave it with the king to 
settle what the medal shall be. This experiment, and its 
success, was the more pleasing, as it stirred the risibles of 
those who were v/ith me on the piazza. The dullest looking 
Dane of them all really smiled, audibly almost, when they 
saw the success of the experiment. But the train was 
ready, and I left Kiel, seeing no more in that early morning 
hour, except one woman, two men, three dogs asleep on 
a sidewalk, and a flock of tame ducks in a pond, and, on 
Saturday, July 10th, at 7 A. m., having disposed of the sen- 
timental, I take up my parable. 

In the train one day, was a family party in excellent spirits, 
and in German kept up a very animated, and, I doubt not, 
agreeable conversation. I asked in French and English, if 
any one spoke either of these tongues. The general answer 
was, no. At length a young lady of pleasing face and man- 



jouRK-Aii. 327 

ner, said, in a voice which singularly contrasted with the 
rough, loud German around, that she could speak some 
English. I thanked her for the announcement, and we 
talked some time. After a pause the young lady began 
again, and the following dialogue passed between us : 

"Where, do, you, live?" The commas indicate the 
manner of enunciation. 

In the Universe. 

" Where ? " 

In the Universe, — in that part of it called Germany, — 
here, — in this carriage. 

" Where, were, you, born ? " 

I cannot precisely say. I was very young at the time, 
and know only by report where it happened, and common 
report being a common story-teller, I must decline an an- 
swer. 

"Have, you, any, family? " 

O, yes. 

"Where?" 

In this carriage. Your friends, and you, Miss, make 
up my present family, and very pleasantly am I situated. 

" What, is, your, name ? " 

I handed my card, begging her to say to one I took to be 
her mother, and who seemed much interested in our dia- 
logue, that there w^as nothing important meant in the offer. 

Here the catechism ended. 

This to me was quite a curious affair. It was perfectly 
pleasant. But my fair friend, I observed, translated all I 
said, to her party, and they looked at us with great interest 
as the dialogue proceeded. I had with me a small volume 
of verses, which I had recently printed for friends, and 
offered it to her. She received it most kindly, and I looked 
around upon the rich, level, but noble country. 

Do not say that I was discourteous to my fair catechist. 
I had certainly no reason to be so. But the first day on 
the Continent, a fellow traveller, a man, put to me many 



328 JOURNAL. 

questions, which I, without thought, answered, and some 
which I might have quite as well been silent about. I then 
determined, that under no circumstances whatever, would I 
submit to the like. One hardly knows what use may be 
made of apparently the simplest communications. It was 
in recollection of a former experience, that I answered as I 
above stated, in this " second lesson in questioning." 

It was midsummer, and the fruits of the season, especially 
strawberries and cherries, were in their perfectness. At the 
stations, fruit and other refreshments, with flowers, are 
offered for sale in profusion, and at very small cost. I have 
never before seen such strawberries. They are the very 
Anaks of the strawberry. They are offered on the stems of 
the plant, tied together, and with the finely marked deep 
green leaves, show splendidly. Before leaving home, I had 
a travelling coat made, with many pockets. And of much 
use was the structure. One pocket was devoted to lumps 
of sugar, put up in nice paper, and used with water and 
fruit. These were in demand this fine Saturday, and my 
fellow passengers had free use of them with their strawber- 
ries, a small piece of sugar being bitten from the lump as 
occasion required. I have heard that in Russia the same 
mode is adopted in drinking tea. I can only say I saw 
nothing of this custom there. Different peoples do the 
same thing differently. I have seen strawberries eaten in 
Denmark, as already described. Now, I can answer for 
it, that the Danish is an excellent mode of arranging straw- 
berries, sugar, and cream. Their union is delicious. Speak- 
ing of sugar. The sugar beet is extensively cultivated on 
the Continent. I passed vast fields, entirely covered with the 
sugar beet, in the most vigorous growth. I did not know 
what these monstrous crops could be used for. A very nice 
and intelligent companion told me all about it. It is, said 
he, for sugar-making, — that a hundred pounds of beet 
would make ten pounds of sugar, — and that so large was 
the product, as seriously to affect the price of foreign sugar. 



JOURJ^^AL. 329 

I have spoken of manners and customs. There is one I 
have often noticed, but much more distinctly to-day than 
before. I mean leave-taking among families and friends, — 
public leave-taking. It cannot be that it is a great, or rare 
event, for people to leave home here, any more than in other 
countries, but from Moscow to Germany, I have wit- 
nessed this ceremony. More women than men enter into 
it. The whole family circle, no matter how large, compose 
it. Such a talking, laughing, — such fulness of utterances, 
before the final whistle, — and then the forming of lines 
along the railing of the station, — and lastly, the kissing of 
hands, waving of hats and handkerchiefs, make a scene, of 
which the Anglo-Saxon races absolutely know nothing. I 
have generally succeeded in getting a seat next the door of 
the coupe, and nearest the railing, and there, with my old 
and constant companion, my eye-glass, I have looked at 
the long crowd. The carriages, you know, move slowly at 
first, and give one a fine chance to see the people, and, with 
a traveller's license, I always did see them. At first, I 
thought these gatherings were of passengers, and asked my 
courier if the train would not be crowded. " O, no," said 
he, "they are friends." The Germans have much manner, 
and the strongest voices in the world. You cannot tell how 
annoying this becomes, when the infliction lasts through 
three and four hundred English miles of travel, in a warm 
summer day. Recollect you do not understand a word of 
what is screamed or roared out. It may be very clever, but 
it is all Greek to you. An extreme annoyance, under such 
circumstances, are children. Get a restless, pretty, petted 
boy of four years opposite to you. When he gets tired of 
everything else, he begins to try his humour on your shins, 
by sundry kicks of his tough German shoes. I rejoiced in 
many of these experiences to-day ; and was forced to 
appeal, by natural signs, to his parents, to have the nuisance 
abated. The American car prevents all this. 

We lunched at Wittenburg, where I thought of Hamlet, 
28* 



330 JOUKNAL. 

— changed carnages and compan5\ The last part of my day 
was worse than the first. In the new carriage, I had for 
fellow passengers a very pleasing looking lady and her 
hushand. For a little while we were alone. I found the hus- 
band was a Pole, an exile, and living in Magdeburg, on our 
route. We soon learned that each knew some French, and 
at it we went, and such a mixture of Polish, and English, 
with French, may never before have been met with. But 
there was good feeling, and this helps much in this as in all 
other embarrassments. The lady had a sweet face, and Avas 
in simple, but deep mourning, as was her husband, as if 
they had lost an only child, — and their native land, too. 
She was German, but her manner was so quiet, so gentle, — 
her expression so sweet, that you could not but be happy to 
be there. But my pleasure was not long. A young mother 
entered the carriage with a boy, two and half years old, 
named Herman, and a girl a year older, named Hetwig. 
By the way, my Polander lady was named Mary. I wish 
you could hear her pronounce it. The lady and her chil- 
dren, the new passengers, sat opposite to me. Next her 
was her nursery girl, a somewhat extensive, bu]; not neces- 
sarily disagreeable body. Mother took the son, the maid 
the daughter, thus placing the four opposite me. It was 
terribly hot. We thought we should have melted, and have 
left a product which would puzzle even Cuvier to have 
determined. The train started, and so did the children. 
The young mother began the training by giving them cher- 
ries. It was like the first taste of blood to the tiger. He 
never forgets it. So did not these the cherries. The drive 
was ruined. I could not sleep. I could only sweat. I 
laboured to occupy, and so please, the young immortals. I 
gave them my gold tooth-pick case, — my keys, — my little 
ivory rule, — my watch. But it was no go. I saw I had 
to take it. It came in kicks, — tumbling all over me, — 
putting both shoes on one of my corns, and, at the same 
time, — a piling up of shoes, — climbing all over me, with 



JOURNAL. 331 

clierry-stained, and still wet hands. At Magdeburg, I got 
rid of them from the carriage, but saw them in the station's 
ladies' saloon, drinking milk, the girl screaming because she 
could not drink fast enough. You ask if I did not hope it 
would choke her ? I can say I had never seen and felt the 
like. It were professional to say that I did wonder how the 
milk and the cherries fared together. From this day's ex- 
perience I would humanely suggest, that if people mean to 
carry children when they travel, whether it would be amiss 
to pack them away among the luggage, or deposit them in 
the freight train. There would be both economy and com- 
fort in such an arrangement. 

Magdeburg is a historical name, and the city looks as if 
time and man had worked successfully in giving to it the 
questionless evidences of age, and of war. It is one of the 
most important fortresses of Germany, and, from the time 
of Charlemagne, has preserved its interest in the commercial 
and warlike characters which attach to it, and which, with 
its defences, is regarded as one of the strongest fortresses of 
Europe. A canal, which connects the Havel and Elbe, 
connects the latter with the Oder, and so with the Baltic, 
thus bringing Magdeburg in easy communication with the 
whole north of Europe. I was at every step struck with 
the vast and various means employed to make this old city 
impregnable. You pass through gate after gate, — wall 
after wall, with portcullises, standing with their enormous 
teeth of massive iron suspended in mid air, and in readiness 
to fall, and close shut up the city, or to destroy everything 
beneath them. Time is impressed upon everything. The 
black walls are crusted over with the accumulations and 
deep dyes of ages. The very stones in the narrow streets, 
are deeply worn by the tread of multitudes who have long 
passed away ; and, as you w^alk through them, unite with 
everything else in deep attestation to the surrounding anti- 
quity. The new was nowhere. The Gothic Cathedral 



332 JOUHNAL. 

stands higli above everything else, and tells the story of 
ages. In the Napoleon wars this was an object of the deep- 
est interest. I was told on the spot, as I looked upon its 
grand old tower frowning down upon me, that its surmount- 
ing cross was shot off by a treacherous commandant of the 
city, named Kliest, who afterwards sold the city to the 
French. But he had small joy of his bargain, for the very 
money he had received was taken from him as he was leav- 
ing Magdeburg. It was in a prison in Magdeburg, that 
Baron Trenck passed so many years, and from which he at 
length escaped. The history of this Baron formed an im- 
portant part of my early day's reading ; but which the later 
literature has replaced by Jack Sheppard, and the like. If 
time had served, I should certainly have visited the Baron's 
*' prison house." 

Prussia you know is as fiat as a prairie. The exception 
is the mountain boundary between it and Belgium, and 
which I have already commemorated. As you get along on 
the railway, you see narrow roads passing off from its edges 
into the country, and parallel roads with their tributaries. 
At the stations we got cherries in abundance, and very 
cheap. At Coethen, pronounced by the natives Coen, in 
the shortest possible order, we had a splendid time with 
the cherries. Women are the merchants. It is a female 
monopoly. The rights of the sex are unquestioned here. 
And who would ask for other sellers of such exquisite fruit ? 
They sell them in paper envelopes, wrapped up like cornu- 
copoeias, and I was not a little amused to find that my liorn 
was made of a broad leaf of four pages, a work of Hippo- 
crates, in Greek, with a Latin translation, very handsomely 
printed. Here in this obscure, out of the way village of 
Prussia, is Greek medical literature used to make cherry 
bags ! Doubtless, literature has been put to worse uses. 
On v/e drove, and at about nine in the evening, in fair, 
reading twilight, we ended our journey, of about three 
hundred miles, having arrived at — 



JOURNAL. 333 

Leipzig (properly spelt), in Saxony. — This is a queer 
old spot. I stopped at the Hotel Barriere, tie best in the 
place, utterly worn out with heat, noisy, restless children, 
and a steady, solid drive of some hundred miles, to say 
nothing of dust, smoke, soot, &c,, the accompaniments of 
railway travel. Tea was ordered, — candles were lighted. 
Going into my parlour, four large wax candles in high silver 
candlesticks, wei- found in full blaze for the edification of 
the furniture, that being the only occupant. They were of 
coarse put out. Speaking of candles. These are a heavy 
charge in a long bill, and to make this charge less, some are 
in the habit of taking the ends of candles, which, sometimes, 
are almost the whole article, away with them. At Leipzic, 
having before heard somewhat of the practice, I thought of 
adopting it, and told Charles to gather together the things 
which remained, and which were surely destined to perish. 
Said he, " Sir, I would not take the candles. Gentlemen 
never take them." It w^as clear the courier was greatly 
troubled, and most anxious for my dignity, and I gave up 
the thought of burdening him with the wax. Sugar was 
quite a different thing. I daily pocketed what was left, 
and found uses for it. A friend once told me, that when 
half a century or more ago, he was in Paris, he took lessons 
in French, of an old Abbe. The lesson was given at 
breakfast, and M. seeing the remainder sugar daily car- 
ried away by the servant, with the breakfast furniture, 
asked my friend, as it was paid for, to permit him to take 
away what was left. It was in small, most delicate, imita- 
tion sugar loaves. My friend readily granted the request, 
and the poor Abbe got daily a generous supply for his 
coffee, and sugar- water. It was in memory of this old anec- 
dote of my friend's foreign life, that I " put the remaining 
sugar in my pocket." So much for candles and sugar. 

Sunday, July 14. — Leipzic I said was old. In the tenth 
century, its site had on it a small Sclavonian village. In 
the 12th, Leipzic was there, a fortified city, with walls and 



334 JOXJRNAL. 

ditches. From its present looks I sliould tliink it was built 
all up at ouce, and is this pleasant summer's day, precisely 
as it was then. Such a city. I have seen nothing like it, 
and it is in no part of it like itself. Here are streets, and 
squares, and churches, and a university with many students, 
and seventy or more professors. The character of Leipzic is 
in its architecture, or rather, no architecture. Everybody 
has built, — nobody builds now, — just as the whim took 
him, and whim has been the order of the day. A house is 
four or six stories high. The roof is the largest part of 
the house. I have counted six and seven stories in one 
roof, that is, rows of dormant windows to this extent. But 
this differs perpetually. Houses being as much unlike in 
this as in other resj)ects, as possible. I asked the use of 
these strange shaped, and j)laced rooms. One said they 
were used to dry clothes in. I could understand this, for in 
Germany, every housekeeper begins married life, — the 
woman does, I mean, — by getting together, house, bed, 
and other linen in quantity sufficient to last the family, that 
is, and its natural and accidental increments, half a year, — 
six months, — for it is a custom to wash but twice a year. 
The drying rooms must be large to accommodate such 
washes, and this may be found in the rooms in the roof. 
Another reason for this odd architecture was given. These 
windows, and the rooms they light and ventilate, are for the 
accommodation of the thousands who come to the fairs, 
annually held in Leipzic. These fairs are many. Two a 
year for books only, and the volumes brought and sold here, 
are almost numberless ; and bookmakers, printers, and ven- 
ders, are in proportion. Then there are fairs for horses, 
peltry, wool, cotton, and cotton fabrics, domestic and 
foreign, French, English, Turkish, &c., &c. Large accom- 
modations are demanded for these, and the existing amount 
hardly is enough. But the roofs rejoiced in other things 
than windows. Out of some projected miniature spires, as 
of churches. And for what purpose? May they not be for 



JOXIEXAL. 335 

a sort of chapels of ease, and tlie partition walls of the 
rooms used during the fairs being removed, the vast attics 
may be used as places of worship by those w^ho do not find 
accommodation elsew^here. How strange is Leipzic, which 
makes such de.mands on philosophy, which asks such ques- 
tions, and which may be so variously answered. I have 
sometimes thought while looking at these houses, that the 
builders must have had some concern with the Babel Tower, 
and meeting after the confusion of tongues, had gone to 
Avork without any plan, each one for himself. I looked up 
and down, side ways, and all ways, upon the things before 
me, but it Avas no use. It was all " muddle," as says that 
most wretched man in Dickens. I said that from one roof 
came out a miniature church spire. Near it is one which 
has a tower springing somehow from its gable end, looking 
more like an observatory than anything else. Then, one 
man desirous for the extremest architectural antagonism, 
has made his window sills slanting, instead of horizontal, 
all askew, and the effect is queer enough. I was getting so 
twisted and turned by these works of art, that I went home, 
lest I should get a lee lurch myself, and come home wrong 
side up. You never saw such a place. I have wandered 
somewhat, and have seen different peoples, and widely dif- 
ferent cities, but never anything like this. Nothing can be 
like it, for it is wholly unlike itself. Leipzic is built of 
stones, monstrous large ones, and there are sculptures of 
all sorts on the corners of buildings, on the tympanum of the 
pediments of the gables, just as were ornamented the same 
members of the Greek and Roman public architecture. The 
stones are black, or brown black, and much worn away, or 
masses may have been carried from them to build other 
houses, and could have been spared, and not missed. I 
thought this very day of sketching some of these houses 
which are in the square near my hotel. But I abstained as 
it is Sunday, though as women are selling cherries, and 
strawberries in the square, I might not have much disturbed 



336 JOURNAL. 

the devotional spirit of the place. I had neither heart, 
mind, nor time, to visit Leipzic sights. It is a sight itself, 
and cannot fail to satisfy the most rampant curiosity. I 
heard there was a sight worth seeing, — a Gallery, — and 
particularly worthy, as in it was a full length of Marie An- 
toinette on her way to the guillotine ; a work by a native 
artist. You may be surprised that a gallery should be open 
to-day. But there was consideration in this. It was not 
opened until the churches had been closed, at noon, — and 
so could be visited when the morning service had been dis- 
posed of. It reminded me of the mercantile accommodation 
formerly granted our burghers by opening the Post-office 
for an hour after morning church. There was short time to 
get letters on the first Sunday of the month. But all went 
and had their letters ready for Monday. But we" have 
changed the time of late ; we can get our letters before going 
into church. I went to the Gallery. Among the Turks, 
you know we must do as the Turkies do. The picture of 
the Queen is the principal attraction. It is striking. She 
has been long in prison, — has looked death in the face 
every day. She has grown pale in darkness. The blessed 
sun has not blessed her. On the top of her head, down to 
the neck, the hair is as white as snow, while the heavy 
curls over the neck and shoulders still have their youthful 
colour. Hair sometimes becomes white very suddenly. Fear 
has produced the change. The Queen had never betrayed 
fear. She has not forgotten that she was, — that she is a 
Queen. She says that until the 

" Long divorce of steel fall on her," 

she will remain a Queen. The eyes are not full open, as if 
the strong and unaccustomed sunlight, and the scene around 
were more than the eye, or the mind, could at once bear. 
In the mouth the expression is the most striking. The lips 
are closed as by the will, — the long enduring, and still 
acting will. You see that the pressure of the lips against 



JOUKXAL. 337 

each other has a purpose, or is the product of a mental state 
of unbroken energy. There is no acting in all this. There is 
only, — and what more is needed ? — there is nothing more 
than entire self-possession, with a sadness too, which comes, 
it may be, from the memory of the dead, — children, — hus- 
band, — sisters, — all killed, and in detail, as if to make her 
surviving agony heavier by being longer. She stands firmly, 
— a full length, — in black. Around her, are soldiers, with 
swords and guns, as if that helpless creature might turn 
upon, and kill them all. There are wretches with the lonnet 
rouge on their heads, and one more especially, who has hell 
in his face beforehand. Others are thrusting their hard 
clenched fists at her Much of this is in the shade, and no 
more of it than is sufficient to tell the story. 

The queen picture has been here three days, and as a 
special favor will remain as many more. If an apology or 
reason, then, were asked for opening the exhibition of a 
Sunday, perhaps one might be found in this fact. But I 
hardly believe it. It seems a national custom, a part of that 
Euro--ean life, which hardly separates Sunday from the week. 
The shops, however, were all closed. The people were 
abroad in their best, and everything spoke of the general 
comfort. The streets are w^ell paved with stones of the size 
and shape of very large bricks, and the sidewalks are gene- 
rally good. The quiet was perfect. Soldiers were about, of 
course, and in numbers sufficient to restore order should it 
anywhere be broken. 

Speaking of soldiers. Leipzic is as celebrated for its 
battles as for its fairs. Twice we are told the destinies of 
Germany have been decided by arms on its plains, viz., 
September 7, 1631, and October 18, 1813. Another earlier 
battle, on the 2d of November, 1642, is not without mem- 
ory. I w^as told of these battle-fields, — of the places of the 
dead, — of the victors, and of the vanquished, — and was 
desired to devote a day to visit them. But I have no curiosity 
about such places or things, — no desire to see them. • I 
29 



338 JOXJKIS'AL. 

had been wifhin a short distance of Waterloo. But I knew 
that nature had covered the desecrated earth there, with 
green, and with beauty — that she had gentlj' wiped away the 
evidence of man's terrible insult to herself, and to her God, 
— and that peace had again its abode there. Why, why, 
disturb for human memories, such repose? Why, with 
curious word, and vulgar tramp, arouse the echoes around 
the buried, — the mouldering, the forgotten ? I cared not 
for Waterloo. I cared not for the Battle-fields of Leipzic. 

Deesden. Monday, July 12th. — I left home May 12th. 
I am, then, just two months from home. Two months, — 
and as epochs have a value, this is recorded. 

It is a fair and fine morning. The sun has power even at 
his early rising at this time of the year, and a hot day is 
toward. I am at the Hotel de Rome, — the Stadt Rom, — 
of the vernacular here. It is a grand place, in front of a 
noble square'. My rooms are engaged for a Grand Duke, of 
a Grand Duchy, and I am warned, if his highness arrive 
before I go, I must go up higher. The square is directly in 
front of my windows, precisely as in Copenhagen, except 
wanting water, boats, and nice fxsh women, is a market, and 
in full activity. This was not to be resisted, so out I went, 
and was at once in the midst of venders and buyers. Of 
course the first were women. All sorts of things were for 
sale, — a curious mixture. Rye bread in enormous circular 
loaves or masses, two feet or more in diameter, and in pro- 
portion thick, — thick crusted, with the peculiar smell, and 
Ihave no doubt taste, which are so rejoiced in, in Germany. 
There were long loaves, looking like a very respectable un- 
sawed log of wood, especially when mounted on the shoul- 
der of the buyer. These solid wheels of bread, or circles, 
were piled up very high, as you may have seen large cheeses. 
This bread is very popular. It has its value to the German 
heart and stomach in the thoroughness of its cookery. It is 
of the deepest crust. It retains its sweetness comparatively 



JOURNAL. 339 

a long time, and is always fresh. The whole bread of the 
Continent is thoroughly done. The German wheat flour roll 
is completely baked. The crust is brown, and «risp, — 
to tender teeth and gums, a caution. I have not these, but 
having so long eaten uncooked, — everything else but good 
bread, — that the crispness of the foreign in its novelty was 
not wholly agreeable. My practice is to take the roll firmly 
in hand, and with a good squeeze, crush it into something 
like the accustomed softness. I shall miss this most excel- 
lent foreign bread. Then, across the square, were farming 
and garden tools, and straw, and hay, and seeds, all in 
large quantities. Next, vegetables and fruit in abundance, 
and of the nicest quality. Loads of splendid cherries, and 
grand gooseberries, and something between our huckle and 
blue berries, also abundant. Next was a market of children's 
basket wagons; and lastly, butter of exquisite complexion. 
I like to know how people live. Here were the necessaries 
and many of the luxuries of life in profusion, and so cheap 
that the mo'tley customers might be all served. Is it not 
pleasant, does it not speak well for a people to see them in 
the early morning, in from the country, with its best pro- 
ducts, in the open air, and bright sky, and surrounded by 
the city folk in pleasant chat, disposing of their marketing ? 
Then the perfect neatness of everything. The public gaze 
is here, everything is seen, and people know that what they 
buy will be worth having. I delight in, I love this old 
marketing, so social, so pleasant, so honest, and so satisfac- 
tory. I took out my pocket book, as is my wont, to note 
down what was before me, and some of the folk looked at 
me this morning. Generally, I have wandered about with- 
out exciting the least remark, and am never troubled by 
solicitations to buy. 

In the market I looked at the women to learn something 
of their position by their persons, manners, dress. There 
was a striking difference between buyers and sellers. The 
latter are peasants, the former citizens, mostly women. The 



340 JOIJPvNAL. 

peasant woman shows her position by the effect of constant 
out-door work, on both complexion and expression. The 
daily exposure to the long hot days of summer acts surely 
upon both, until almost feature, certainly beauty, for all are 
born with beauty, is absolutely burnt out of them. Why, 
no longer ago than Saturday, I passed a sugar beet field 
which Avas boundless in extent, — spreading in every direc- 
tion as far as the eye could reach, and in it, I counted be- 
tween seventy and eighty women in a row, a straight row, 
at work, weeding and turning the earth about the plants. 
In a neighbouring field was another party of about forty at 
the same toil. They, or many, wore large hats which could 
do little more than at high noon keep ofi* the sun's burning 
heat. There was something picturesque in the exhibition. 
The German, like all other women, delight in dress, and it 
was pleasing to see how true is the interest even in the 
sugar beet field. All sorts of colours entered into the cos- 
tume, and the bright ribands, and other floating or flying 
appendages of hat or dress, gave to the women" a cheerful as 
well as gay look. As the train passed, they stood resting 
on the end of their hoe handles, like soldiers at drill, and 
with not a little grace, I assure you. Across the square is 
the Bom, the Cathedral, — Catedral, as the courier calls it, 
— in its age, its dark, heavy, time-worn walls, — its vast 
size, — the silent majesty of material forms, standing there 
forever, a spiritual guardian, embodied for the salvation of 
the people. Breakfast dispatched, I passed across the 
Square to the " Ro3^al Gallery of Dresden," as sayeth the 
catalogue. The catalogue is before me. It numbers eighteen 
hundred and fifty-seven works of art, by several hundred 
masters and schools, the authors of seventy-seven being 
unknown. I have just returned from the gallery, — from 
one of the great interests of Europe. Who has not heard 
of it, who has ever heard of art ? Who does not desire to 
see it ? You have in it the original of works, the copies of 
which in great and little, painted or engraved, have filled 



JOURNAL. 341 

the world, for adornment, for instruction, or for pleasure. 
Art has done what it could do to give some notion of what 
these great and old works are, and to what their production 
has been owing. The master has sought by pencil, or by 
tool, — on the canvas, or the marble, to reproduce ideal 
states, — to reveal his own spiritual being, in its highest 
activity, — in the hope to make immortal the memory of 
human greatness, — to reveal the beauties of nature in their 
influences upon himself, — to strengthen piety, — to give 
to the affections a more powerful, — a more active life, — 
and as its final cause to awaken, — to keep alive, reverence 
toward God, and toward man. He who reveals to me most 
clearly by whatever means, the moral, the religious, the 
intellectual, has done for me the best work that man can do. 
It may be in a cup of cold water, — or in the Consecration 
of the Bread and the Wine, in the Dresden Gallery, from the 
hand of its author. As soon as you see the original of 
this work, you feel that the whole story is told. A copy 
must be a failure. In the original is embodied the master's 
mind. Who can copy a mind ? Nobody. One day as I 
looked again upon the " Consecration," an artist was copy- 
ing it. You saw at once it was a failure. Christ was not 
there. The story was not told. In the original the bread 
is 7uade Jlesh, — the wine is made blood. You see what, to 
the human in that Divine Being, had been the terrible con- 
sciousness before hand of that which was surely to come, 
— but you see also, how the Divine has replaced the 
human, and with what, I had almost said, joy, that heart 
is now visited. I never before saw such an expression in 
a living mouth. It can never be repeated. 

This is my body which is broken for you. 
This is my blood which is shed for you. 

I declare to you that to weep is so present to me now in 
this silent, far-off chamber, when I bring that picture in 
thought before me, that tears from my very heart almost burst 
from my eyes. I wish I could give to you some idea of 
29* 



342 JOURNAL. 

this, to me, wonderful work, — this transfusion of the Divine 
into the human, and that you could see the Divine triumph 
there. The tears are dried up. The places they have occu- 
pied may still know them, and you may almost think there 
is still weeping. But the shadow of the vanished grief is 
only there. I looked at the copy. It is all human. The 
expression of the mouth and eyes was only common grief, — 
the simple consciousness of suffering to come. There is 
Correggio's " Magdalen " lying on the earth, reading a book, 
with a vessel of holy oil at her side. This was also under- 
going the agony of being copied ; and how many thousand 
engravings and painted copies have been made of it. Now, 
failure here is not so great as in the " Consecration." This 
is human, — the Magdalen, but purified, — " born again." 
But here in the copy, you get no true idea of it as a work 
of art. Correggio is at the head of those artists who have 
their fame in the beauty of their conception, — ■ in form, — 
colour, — and the use of these in expression. His flesh is 
exquisite. It is warmed as with living blood. It is as 
luminous as if it were the source of its own illumination. 
There is no failure. It tells its story. I know I am writing 
about pictures in the near neighbourhood of the Madoistxa 
OF DnESDEisr. But I am not at the petty, absurd work 
of comparing great works which have no likeness ; or find- 
ing authority, or models, for original works. I am talking 
of things of, by, and in, themselves, and such study excludes 
all other related work. I had no idea of Correggio, or of 
Carlo Dolce, till I saw them in the Gallery across the Square 
yonder. I had seen efforts to copy them, and beautiful 
shapes may have been the result. But there is beneath the 
surface of the originals of such works, that which makes 
the external just what it is designed to be, — the outward 
life, or being of underlying form, — the ideal, — which, not 
being there, in that copy, cannot be revealed by it. There 
can be no copy of a true painting, — a true work of art. 
Men may copy, and try and give us size, and shape, and 



JOURNAL. 343 

colour. But they have no more that they can give. A 
man might as well think of reproducing another man's 
son. 

There is here the world-renowned picture of Raphael, 
called the Madonna of St. Sixtus, — the Dresden Madonna. 
It is of great size. It stands by itself. Care has been 
taken to preserve it from injury, — the action of moisture, 
dust, &c., and now five hundred years since it was painted, 
it has the freshness of a recent work. A heavy plate- 
glass does not in the least obscure it, while it protects it 
admirably. This picture affects you as a work of art. The 
highest authorities have pronounced it perfect in its kind. 
It excites less emotion than other works of its author, or of 
some other authors. We go to the works of Raphael with 
profound reverence and love. We mark that day in our 
lives, in which we have seen one of his works, as an epoch 
in our moral and intellectual life. I have seen nothing in 
these works which could for a moment raise a question of 
their perfect purity. Raphael depends on the truth of 
detail, and therefore never, for a moment, offends your 
taste, or disturbs the entire satisfaction and pleasure with 
which you see his works. You, as by an intuition, — in- 
stinct, — go to that for which the painting was made, and 
which has given it so long life, and find your pleasure in 
the harmony which subsists between it and your capacity to 
understand and feel it. We feel more. We are glad that 
we have had an opportunity to come so near to one who has 
made himself immortal by his works. We come into his 
presence, and place ourselves where he only is, as disciples 
to a master. We make no question of the authenticity 
of the manner in which a thought may be presented to us 
by him, because we feel that the thought is there, and 
has clothed itself, and demands our assent, — yes, entire 
submission to its own decisions, — to the internal evidence 
of the whole truth in the work itself. I marked other num- 
bers in the catalogue, for memory and for description, but 
pass them by. 



344 JOURNAL. 

The same defect in lighting the gallery, which was noticed 
when speaking of the Hermitage, exists here. The win- 
dows are opposite the pictures, to the annoyance of the 
visitor, and obvious injury to the effect of the pictures. 
Two paintings of Carlo Dolce had been taken from their 
places to be copied. The effect Vv'as to present them in the 
true light, and you cannot tell how much is gained to the 
spectator by the change. There is a large picture by Van- 
dyk, — a Danse on her bed, receiving Jupiter metamor- 
phosed into a shower of gold. No. 399. It is most exqui- 
sitely coloured, and the drawing is as fine as the colouring. 
Now, this picture of this great artist is placed thus : A 
large Avindow is in front of it, and a window on each side 
of that. They seem to contend which shall do most to pre- 
vent the picture being seen ; and it is one of those rare cases 
in which all parties succeed. Now, if there be anything 
in such a subject, or in its treatment, or in the manner of 
treating it, vrhich makes it unfit for the public eye, why not 
put it down cellar at once ? I will venture to say that there 
is more neck-twisting to see that picture, than any other 
specimen of its kind in the Gallery, and many such there 
are which enjoy excellent light. If there be no so-called 
moral considerations in the question, why not put in its 
place half a dozen, or hundred things, which scarce anybody 
cares to see, and let this replace them ? 

I have said nothing of the architecture of this ancient 
and justly renowned city. It resembles Leipzic, but with a 
difference. It really has order in it, — is the product of 
some plan. There are storied roofs, but much less ambi- 
tious than in Leipzic. Houses are built of stone, and get 
old sooner than might otherwise be, by the crumbling away 
of that of which they are built. I have not seen this ex- 
plained. Upon asking a cause, I was told it is time. 
The entrance to the Gallery affords a striking instance of 
this stone decay, and so does the Cathedral in the same 
square. It does not occur only on the outside of buildings, 



JOURNAL. 345 

or in parts of them liable to injury or wear. There is some 
cause in the composition or structure of the stone which 
predisposes to such decay. 

It was a delicious morning, this, upon which, at about 
six, I left Dresden for Vienna. Our route was on the banks 
of the Elbe. Railways love such places. The river, at 
least this portion of it, is narrow, shallow, and sallow, and 
as lazy as any river need be. But, for its state, it has mag- 
nificent scenery. We should hardly call its lateral boun- 
daries first class mountains ; but they were of sufficient 
height to give character to the country. Why is it that 
mountains so deeply impress us ? Is it that in their mys- 
terious heights, the mountain, the unknown, they come to 
be related to the near present, — the material, — the phy- 
sical, after a manner which we do not comprehend, or even 
care to have explained ? Several years ago I went to the 
White Hills, so called, in America. I walked up Mt. 
Washington, between six and seven thousand feet above the 
level of the sea. I looked from that " far height," over a 
vast extent of country. It was noon, and one of the bright- 
est. I saw a line, as of a white ribbon, winding, for miles, 
away among forests, and hills, and valleys, having a bril- 
liancy like burnished silver. What is that, said I to the 
guide, " It is the Saco River," said he. Between thirty and 
forty miles to the south and w^est, I saw a large bright 
white spot, on the earth, almost as brilliant as the river. 
This, 1 was told, was the Winipiseogee Lake. The noon 
sun was over them, pouring upon them a torrent of light, 
every ray of which was retu^ ne 1 to the heavens again, and 
in its way filled my eyes with its brightness. I could not 
bear to leave a spot which furnished to me so sublime, so 
beautiful a vision. It seemed as if I should not be happy 
below again. The mountain had become as a friend. How 
much pleasure had it not given me ? I reached the hotel 
in the evening. I did not cease to think and to talk of 
that mountain. It seemed to me the most solitary thing on 



346 JOUEXAL. 

the whole earth, which it had left so far beneath it. I felt 
sad that it was all alone out, and up there, in the cold, — 
the silence, — the darkness. The sense of solitariness never 
so deeply affected me before. When I left that mountain- 
region, I felt a sort of homesick desire to go to it again, — 
yes, hold communion again with the " everlasting hills." 

How much enters into mountain scenery to make it just 
what it is. How many parts in the vast whole, — and what 
perpetual novelty, — the product only of different arrange- 
ments of the same parts. A river is among mountains, and 
one of their creations, follows them wherever they go. Like 
a loving child, it clings to, and follows the parent. Here 
we have a source of our interest in such facts in nature. 
The hour of the day, and the presence of the sun, have 
much to do with our theme. These are prolific of beauty, 
and you may create it, or have it created, simj)ly by changing 
your position with regard to a mountain range ; and so 
make the sun to bear npon it in different directions. The 
winding of the mountains, or of the river, make all this 
change of direction for, you. The light mist of the morn- 
ing is a great help to the effects of such scener}^ Suppose 
the sun to have been up an hour or two, and the river fol- 
lows the deep curves of mountains, as it must. You have 
every effect of light and shade, — the certain revelation of 
variety and beauty. At times the sun, behind the angle, 
or bend in a range, illuminates half of a tree, a tall, noble fir, 
leaving the other part in the depths of its sad-green, and 
which no other foliage yields. Sometimes the mist is mov- 
ing, or the refraction of the light on entering a denser 
medium than the surrounding atmosphere, gives this effect 
of motion, — this seeming to be living, and moving, by an 
effort of the tree itself. At times the colour of the foliage 
is purple ; and then it will present a surface of the light- 
est down, perfectly white. A cloud may now pass between 
a portion of it and the sun, the rest of it being full of light. 
You cannot tell how arorareous is the contrast, — how mag- 



JOUKXAL. 347 

nificent the whole. I was alone. The train went banging 
along, but I did not heed its noise. And then the shrill 
whistle spoke, and echo upon echo returned its clear voice. 
Other effects came from the relative positions, simply of 
masses ; while natural hollows, or deep retreats of hill and 
wood, gave darkness to aid the power of the celestial light 
which reigned everywhere else. 

The structure of these mountains is rocks, which, lying 
near the surface everywhere, increase the general effect by 
their colour, and by an apparently architectural arrange- 
ment, as if placed there by art. The first rocks we saw 
were of a dark cream colour, but becoming lighter and 
lighter till they were almost white. This, a sandstone, 
accompanied the Elbe in its course. You may lose it for 
some time, and then the formation recurs, and you see at 
once the same rocks you lost miles before. They are strati- 
fied. In the first region in Avhich I noticed them, the 
stratification is horizontal with vertical seams, producing at 
different distances natural joints. The strata occur of dif- 
ferent thicknesses in the same range, and are separated from 
each other with ease, so that you can get out stones of 
various thickness and lengths for any purpose for which 
stones are used, — architecture, or other. The mountains 
spring from near the river's edges. This allows of a ready 
and speedy passage of the stones to the water, and to gon- 
dolas hard by. An inclined plane, which the mountain's 
side is, is just smoothed, and the stones slide down it. 
Between the mountain bases and the Elbe, is a road. The 
stones stop here, and are easily passed thence to the 
boat. 

One use made of this stone, of itself, and of its forma- 
tion, is seen in the Konigstein, or " Kingstone." This is a 
mountain fortress on the Elbe, in Saxony, and near Bohe- 
mia. It is impregnable. It has never been conquered. 
It has stood through the long and complicated wars of Ger- 
many. No army has overcome it, and no treachery has 



348 JOUKNAL. 

betrayed it, the certain evidence of its physical and moral 
power. "But," says one, "the fortress is of no military 
importance, as it cannot serve for a rallying point, or point 
of support for an enemy." The pictures of the Dresden 
Gallery have been preserved here in times of danger. A 
well, 1172 feet, is on the top. Supplies can always be pro- 
duced on the mountain. About six hundred people live on 
its top. Its cannon command the town below on the Elbe. 
It stands there in its virgin purity, as it was at first erected, 
and has this day in itself the sure prophecy of never losing 
its distinction among the works of nature and of man. 
The mountain rises in solitary grandeur, fourteen hundred 
feet perpendicularly from the river ; its surface is more than 
a mile in circumference. It is wholly mural in its elevation. 
What was necessary for the formation of the fortress ? 
First, to remove the earth, and then strata enough of the 
sandstone to give smoothness to the surface, and symmetry 
to the outline. Galleries, embrasures, &c., were easily pro- 
vided. This fortress in itself, in its beautiful material, the 
cream-coloured sandstone, — in its position, and relations, 
in its history, — makes an interesting passage in the travel 
on the Elbe. 

In other parts of the route very different rocks are met 
with. These are dark, black, with smooth and bright sur- 
faces, which strongly reflect the light. These are everywhere 
undergoing disintegration, falling off in large or small 
masses. Sometimes they almost overhang the road, and 
seem as if they might separate and roll upon the rail, or 
fall upon the top of the train. The process of disintegra- 
tion is curious. A rock of some height will have masses 
small and large come off from its circumference only, pro- 
ducing at length a columnar form, as high as was the original 
rock. These columns are pointed at top, and resemble a 
spire, and as if formed by art. The surrounding surface is 
covered, piled up with the debris, — the product of the dis- 
integration. In form, these detached masses vary, sometimes 



JOUHNAL. 349 

appearing ciiboidal ; in others the disentegration is less per- 
fect, a mass having the character of many pieces still united, 
and presenting a great variety in shape. While there was 
this variety in this formation, and made the region so truly 
picturesque, the opposite side of the river, with its stratified 
sandstone put to economical purposes, had the same charac- 
ter, but from different sources, — the infinite varieties in 
size, shape, direction, and position, of mountains, — the 
varied forest, and other facts in the history, the entire 
scenery making the day's drive exceedingly agreeable. 

Wherever soil exists you have cultivation. The hill sides 
are sometimes so steep, you can hardly think any one could 
stand upon them. But grain is seen growing upon them of 
all kinds, on patches of land of all sorts of shapes, and 
going in all directions. The appearance of things was 
striking and beautiful. It was positively pleasurable to 
track the plough, the hoe, the spade, along and up these 
steep hill-sides, — to see the variety of crops upon the 
ground, and to learn how successful is culture under difficul- 
ties. x\t times, and often, the steepness is less, and you see 
long reaches of excellent land filled with heavy grain, de- 
noting plenty, and associated comfort and contentment. 
Man is here truly in the midst of his works, — the conqueror 
of nature. 

The cottages are of various sizes and shapes. In some, 
the roofs are in numbers, 1, 2, 3, &c. They are formed by 
projecting each roof forward, at certain distances, resem- 
bling the projection of a deep cornice, over its neighbours 
beneath. The windows are curious. They occupy the 
cornice, or cornices. They are shaped like the human eye, 
the outline of the lids, and the pupil being precisely like it. 
At times, there is only one eye, sometimes two, or more. 
The effect is quite striking. I give you a sketch made on 
the spot. I have said generous culture denoted human 
comfort. The cottages are in harmony with their surround- 
30 



350 JOURNAL. 

ings, and we may infer, I think, that their interior arrangis- 
ments correspond. 

As you approach Vienna, the country becomes flatter, and 
at length, flat ; and on every side, and as far as the eye can 
reach, luxuriant cultivation declares itself. In England, and 
America, farmers seem to think that the more stone walls 
or hedges, the better it is for the crops. But it is not so. 
These subdivisions of land into small fields, or lots, dimin- 
ish useful surface. The plough is turned often, and at 
every turn, is loss. Tillage looks ill when so hampered. 
You see on the Continent here, that the ownershij^ of land 
may vest in more than one. It may be in many. Diff"erent 
grains, &c., may be grown on it. But there is no fence 
to separate one portion from another. A narrow foot-path 
only is between them, and this is sufficient to prevent tres- 
passing. Then the appearance of things is so good, — dif- 
ference of colour and shape in the varied culture, making 
beauty, — the beauty of use, and of show; and you rejoice 
in the human force, the good minds, and good hands which 
have done so much for the general advantage. We talk in 
America about the foreign owner, — the lord. Very well. 
There are owners and lords, but they are the products of all 
this soil, and culture, just as much as the grains themselves ; 
and the cultivator is no less, and no more. The question, 
what is the best health, and the truest contentment ? The 
experience of every day's life, everywhere, may answer it. 

I met very unexpectedly with an old friend of the fields 
here. This was our "Indian Corn," — maize, as they call 
it abroad. It had the old home freshness and expression, 
and I was glad to see a native of our Indian land in this 
far-off" world. In its first specimens it seemed hardly at 
home. But it soon showed its old face, and the best " sweet 
corn," I have no doubt, was in prospect. Potatoes were 
grovx^ing all along the edges of the cornfields just as 
in America, and I have no doubt had my sight been 
better, I should have seen pumpkins, and the genuine 



JOIJKNAL. 351 

old crooked necked squashes, v/hich some new fangled 
foreign kinds, not half so good as the old, have in America 
replaced. The Austrian tillage is neater than ours. Women 
are the farmers, and they have the physical accidents of out- 
door work. They aid in preparing the ground for the 
seed, sow it, have much of the care of it. When ripe, they 
reap grain, and mow grass, and fit both for their uses. They 
carry the harvest home. Where required, men are at work 
with them. The heat of the day they rest. Their children 
are with them in the shade ; and they take their food with 
them. They do not work hard, but steadily. Nobody, as 
far as I have seen, works hard on the Continent. The hard 
workers, men and women, are in Great Britain and America. 
On the route a misadventure occurred which annoyed me. 
My courier got the tickets for the day's drive, and kept 
them. As I am unacquainted with the language, should 
question arise, it might be embarrassing, and as he was 
to-day in the second class, it would not be possible to refer 
to him. I thought, as there was some inconvenience in this 
arrangement, that I would keep my tickets for this day's 
drive. They were examined soon after leaving Dresden, at 
the first station. They were of some number and of different 
colours. I was not asked for them again. I observed that 
fellow-passengers as they left, gave tickets at diflferent sta- 
tions, and the last one, as they left the train. At a station, 
the courier came and said to me that when he told the con- 
ductor that I had my own tickets, telling him in which car- 
riage I was, he denied that I had any, and if he did not at 
onc3 buy another set, he would turn him out of the convoy. 
There was no time for talk, and the new set of tickets was 
bought. They were endorsed duplicate. When we reached 
Vienna, I was in a profound sleep. The conductor roused 
me, and asked for my tickets. He took the whole of them, 
tore them all up except that on which Wein was printed, 
and threw them on the floor. 



352 JOURNAL. 

Vienna. — We arrived here between eight and nine, 
A. M., and drove at once to the Erzherzog Carl, — the Arch- 
duke Charles, where I found excellent quarters. My cou- 
rier, soon after, asked me for a note to the head of the 
Bureau of the Northern Railway, stating the facts about the 
ticket imposition, as he called it, and to ask for a return of 
the money. He carried my note, and returned, asking for 
the tickets which he had given me. I told him what had 
become of them. He returned to the Bureau, and was told 
it would be necessary to report this matter to the officer 
at Praga, before it could be settled, adding, that if I had 
retained the tickets, which the courier had told him were 
torn up by the conductor, there would have been no delay 
about the matter. The giving of checks, or taking tickets 
at stations, is just what is done on the railways at home. 
I left the address of my Vienna banker, and stated the 
affair to the banker also, where, if the money were returned, 
it would find me. I should have said above that my courier 
had his duplicate tickets, — those endorsed duplicate, — 
when we left the train in Vienna, and on this evidence it 
was, which he could not have had, were it not that he had 
purchased the second set, that my complaint at the Bureau 
was made. But, as the set which I had taken from my 
courier, as above stated, merely for convenience, had been 
torn up, and scattered upon the carriage floor, just as I was 
about to leave it on reaching Vienna, that evidence of three 
sets having been purchased was wanting, and the question 
could only be decided by information from Praga. Any one 
of common sense will see that this evidence was wholly 
unnecessary, as the endorsed duplicate set was still in p)os- 
sessicn of my courier, and was produced at the Bureau. I 
do not know if the government have any interest in the 
railway, and if it have, as I am informed the Emperor is a 
minor, a suit for damages might not lie. But it would have 
been something, would it not, to have sued a ruler of more 
than thirty millions? Let it not be forgotten that the 



JOUKNAL. 353 

tickets in my possession, as well as those held by ray cou- 
rier, had both been examined at the first station, after leav- 
ing Dresden, and were pronounced correct. I have stated 
the facts just as they occurred. Austria owes me many 
gulden ! 

Vienna is on the southern bank of the Danube, and 
fourteen miles in circumference, the oldest city in Germany. 
It has 487,846 inhabitants. Its general aj)pearance pleased 
me. It has many places, or squares, which are for public use 
and for health. The older cities in Europe were very gen- 
erous in their land appropriations for the general good. The 
means here of education, intellectual health, are abundant. 
The libraries are numerous, and are rich in books, manu- 
scripts, works of art, — the materials of popular instruction, 
and gratification. Colleges, academies, hospitals, museums, 
abound, adding to the provisions for general benefit. St. 
Stephen's Church especially attracted my attention. I wan- 
dered over it, lost in its immensity, — its unobstructed, free 
space. I have alluded to this before, when recalling the 
impressions made upon me abroad. It would seem that the 
old sacred architecture saw in its vastness some relations 
with its object, — that the house of God, in its differences 
from all other human works, — in its exceptional character, 
should have some correspondence with the universe of which 
it is a type. This church was surely old enough to show 
the marks of age, and it certainly did. You saw this at 
once as you approached it. Time has impressed itself also 
upon the interior. The stone is crumbling, and men were 
at work replacing the decayed by the new. I was the more 
struck with this, as the interior of so vast a pile is secure 
from changes of temperature, — from rain, wind, moisture, 
slow, but sure causes of decay, — the decomposition of 
stones. But the work was going on, and but for the sub- 
stantial repairs which governments only can make, this mag- 
nificent church would surely long before this have been a 
ruin. 



354 JOUENAL. 

I had come to Vienna, the capital of a great empire, as I 
had visited every other place, to get some notion of foreign 
arrangements for the present, in human want, and for human 
progress. I went into the streets, and to such places as 
would promote these objects. In short, whatever might 
form public taste, the perception and enjoyment of the 
good and the beautiful, — and serve as the bases of every- 
thing else which would best promote physical and intellec- 
tual health. 

I had a letter to Doctor A., whose connections with pub- 
lic charities best fitted him to favour my inquiries. He was 
not at home. I left my card, and was soon favoured by a 
call from him. I was at once assured that Doctor A. was 
the person, of all others, who could, and would most aid 
me in my objects. His face, expression, form, manner, — 
the whole man, showed you his character, and what he 
would do, and how he would do it, to serve you. There is 
an instinct in this matter, which rarely, if ever, deceives us. 

Men speak without saying a word. Dr. makes you 

at once his friend. You cannot resist such simple, natural 
eloquence of manner. It makes its silent demand on your 
confidence, by showing you that it will not be misplaced. 
I said to Doctor A. that I had come to Vienna to see him. 
We spoke of Professor Simpson, of Edinburgh. " I have," 
said Doctor A., "made him a visit lately, of some weeks, 
and was delighted with him. He did everything in his 
power to make my visit agresable, and I shall remember it 
as among the memorable things of my life." I told him I 
had long corresponded with Professor Simpson, and, that to 
see him, w^as among the motives of my coming abroad. 

An arrangement was soon made to visit the Hospital. 
To a medical man this is one of the attractions of Vienna. 
We soon reached it, and a great afi'air is it. It has grounds 
about it, with trees, shrubberies, walks, for the pleasure and 
good of convalescents ; and for those, too, who have in- 
curable disease, such arrangements, such beneficent provi- 



JOURNAL. 355 

sions, are most acceptable. The extent of the Hospital 
particularly arrested my attention, and I examined its 
various departments with entire satisfaction. I was intro- 
duced to Doctor B., a resident physician, and found in him 
the same dispositions to favour my views in visiting the 
house, as his friend and colleague had manifested. I was 
carried into all the wards, saw all the arrangements for the 
whole comfort and well-being of the sick, and could not but 
be highly gratified at the vast provisions for these objects. 
The wards were perfectly plain in furniture, and the deep- 
worn floors showed how much they had been used. The 
walls and ceilings betrayed questionless marks of age. It 
was clearly a place of business, and a large business too, 
and that the interest was in that more than in the show- 
place, provisions of some other institutions for similar ob- 
jects. It was for the poor, — and for those who cannot so 
conveniently pass through sickness at home, as in a public 
charity, — that if was founded, and I doubt not answers its 
whole purposes. It is a general hospital, in the fullest 
sense of the word. It is a national hospital, and it does 
great honour to the Empire, under the patronage of which 
it had its broad foundation, and has its continued and im- 
portant existence. There were questions asked, and cheer- 
fully received and answered. Ventilation was one. This, 
as it seemed to me, was not much regarded here ; and the 
heat of the day, and the number in the wards, made this 
form of neglect the more obvious. Both medical officers, 
whom I accompanied, agreed that it might be improved; 
but, at the same time, both of them stated what had been 
observed by each of them, namely, that fatal fever had more 
frequently occurred in the wards which were the best ven- 
tilated ; while the patients in other wards, as in that very 
one in which I had referred to the subject, no fever had 
occurred. I stated that what I had seen at Copenhagen 
had furnished different results. Dr. said he had re- 
ceived the same statements from Doctor L., of the Copen- 



356 JOURNAL. 

hagen Hospital, and of its use in the Westminster Hospital 
in London, and, that from some cause, Dr. Uigby, of that 
hospital, had given it up, — viz., the method of Dr. Reed. 
Having completed my visit, and most grateful am I for 
such opportunity of seeing so vast, and so important an 
establishment, I took m.y leave. Dr. could not accom- 
pany me, as he vi^as to deliver a lecture to his class, the last 
of his course. He said he lectured in German, and though 
it would give him great pleasure to have me present, yet he 
felt sure that there would be no interest in his lecture to 
me. I am very sorry, however, that I did not attend it ; 
but, having engagements, I left this distinguished Professor, 
sincerely grateful for his truly valuable attentions. Both 

he and Dr. sj)eak English, and so perfectly, that you 

hardly detect the German in a word they say. 

I had not been long arrived in Vienna before a person in 
the costume of the priesthood called on me, and handed me 
a paper printed in English inviting me to attend a charity 
meeting. I supposed it Avas the custom of his order, to 
visit hotels, find out who had arrived, and to give to them a 
similar invitation. I am sorry my time did not allow me to 
accept it. I Avas mainly occupied in walking and driving 
about to learn what I might of condition by the external 
state of things. The public buildings are less attractive 
than in other great cities, but the compensation was in the 
general appearance of neatness, — the character of dwellings, 
of streets, and of people. There are numerous squares, 
public walks, kept in good order, and great luxuries are 
they, and for the enjoyment of all. There was often an 
appearance of freshness, newness, in the houses, which showed 
attention to important means of comfort. All this was 
apparent in my long drive to the hotel on entering the city, 
and in my longer one to the steamer to leave it. I went 
into shops which were filled with articles of beauty, ele- 
gance, taste. Those in which Bohemian glass was collected, 
were especially attractive. I was showed an order left by 



JOURNAL. . 357 

an American for some of the finest specimens of this gor- 
geous manufacture. I selected a small, but distinctive 
specimen for myself, it being a custom with me to take some 
memorial, however slight, of the places I am visiting. 

Occupations interest the traveller. I saw very little in 
Vienna which distinguishes these from the rest of Germany. 
It has been seen how moderate is effort, however directed. 
The mechanic, the farmer, the man of all work, each seeks, 
and successfully too, to avoid fatigue, making labour as little 
toilsome as possible. Women are most frequently found at 
work, whether in the field or on the road. Where the 
country is uneven, they take their loads upon their heads, or 
in panniers upon donkeys, or what not, and in ordinary roads 
in wagons or otherwise. Women do all sorts of work in peat 
or turf fields, — brick-making yards, — ditches, &c. One 
woman was employed here in a novel way, — tending brick- 
layers by carrying mortar. To be sure the quantity carried 
at a time is very small, but this did not mend the matter. 
The men were repairing a large drain, and a soldier was on 
guard to protect the public from injury. And this was well. 
The heat of the day was intense. I never suffered so much 
from heat. Would that that overworked, wretched looking 
woman, with her deep bonnet on, as if to hide the shame, 
had been allowed to leave the scorching, out-door sun that 
day, and had been permitted to find in domestic offices that 
employment for which, in her constitution, both physical and 
moral, she has been designed. When I spoke one day to 
one on this subject of female employment in Europe, said 
he, " Men do not work here, women do all the work." 
Another said, " The strength, the vigour of manhood is 
given to the army and navy. What would become of the 
nation if women Avere not forced into this physical and 
moral servitude ? 

You have not failed to remark again and again in this 
record, that wherever the military system is severest, the 
armies are the largest in proportion to the population, and 



358 JOUKXAL. 

the younger the conscript, or the drafted. In such, women 
work the most, — do most of the work of men. There has 
been ahvays this compensation. The number employed is 
very great compared with the service, or demand ; and 
hence the toil, which is so largely divided, is less ; and so 
is the exhaustion, and the injury to health. You see also, 
and pray note it, war, or preparation for it, enters into the 
very heart of society, and tends directly to hurt and debase 
whole peoples. The war spirit is everywhere. It is ready 
every moment to declare itself ; and its causes are sought 
and found in circumstances as ridiculous as they are unprin- 
cipled. In an old Scripture is a prophecy that swords shall 
be turned into ploughshares, and spears into pruning-hooks, 
and men shall learn war "no more. The prophecy is slow in 
its fulfilment. The swords and the ploughshares go hand 
in hand, — and as to the learning, war is clearly an instinct, 
and not a lesson, 

Danube. July — . — Left Vienna for Lintz, on the 
Danube. The day again was among the finest which had 
dawned upon me in Europe. The Danube is a noble river. 
Its clear water reflecting the blue of heaven in all its depth 
and richness, was altogether unlike the Rhine or Elbe. 
Our voyage was up stream, and but for steam, it had been 
wearisome indeed. Rafts, and immense boats, were met 
Avith constantly. They were dragged along by horses in 
long lines, in the shallow waters near the shore. The men 
who drove them were singing in company, and the effect 
was singularly pleasing. This making canals of rivers I 
have seen again and again, but never on so large a scale. 
These boats were large enough to carry thousands of cords 
of wood, — coal, and lumber, in the same like quantities. 
We passed two of the largest size lashed together, and came 
in contact and sharp collision with one of them, or it with 
us. The eff'ect was disastrous. The cargo was broken up, 
and covered the river with its ruins. The steamer kept its 



JOUKNAL. 359 

way. The number of men on these rafts, sometimes, as I 
was told, five hundred, will give you some notion of their 
size. 

We were on the Danube one whole day in a fine steamer, 
and so passed over much of its surface. Its direction is 
constantly changing. So striking is this that one cannot 
avoid conjectures concerning its formation. Suppose two 
ranges of mountains of different heights, shape, size, and 
direction. Suppose they stand nearly opposite each other, 
but in their progress bend from their course, wind, and some- 
times irregularly, one before the other, and thus, for hundreds 
of miles, you have a valley formed between two opposite 
ranges of mountains. Now suppose the level of this valley 
be not ]3erfect, but has an inclination east or west, north or 
south, and this is always the case, you have an inclined plane. 
Suppose, from the highest point or part of this valley a 
spring breaks forth, it may be in its formation, — the water 
begins to descend. At first the quantity is small. But 
from a variety of sources, new springs, rain, the melting of 
snow and ice, the rapid Danube is produced, or the more 
rapid Rhine. Sometimes we find the river close to the 
mountains for various distances, while a broad interval exists 
between it, and the opposite side. In this case, the bases 
of the mountains reached by the stream, the interval being 
wanting, are lower than the opposite, having been washed 
more away. But sometimes there is a break in the moun- 
tain chain on one side, or on both. Still the river keeps 
within its limits. This we see frequently occurring on the 
Danube. In this case, the head of the river was originally 
made as it was between the mountain ranges. It was at 
first, as we have said, a small stream, and required but 
little room. It grew deeper by the action of the moving 
water upon its bottom. As it grew larger, it in like propor- 
tion grew deeper by the increased weight, and of course 
power of water over its bed. The tendency of a moving 



360 JOURNAL. 

tody being towards its deepest part, or bed. At times 
freshets force a river beyond its banks, these being sub- 
merged. Yet here its bed is not wider, seeing that it again 
returns within its original banks when the freshet is over, 
and this it does because it does not depend upon accident 
for its existence, but on a certain regular supply, and always 
must depend upon this. From Mount St. Goatherd, rushes 
forth the rapid Rhine. It owes its rapidity to the height of 
its head, — to the contraction of its banks, — permanent 
supplies from neighbouring mountains, and at certain seasons, 
as spring, or early summer, from the melting of snow and 
ice. But it keeps its course. In other rivers, as the Missis- 
sippi and Missouri, the channel is constantly changing its 
course by the accum.ulation of soil, or by washing away, — 
by drift wood, &c., producing bars, or a narrowing, embar- 
rassing to the craft which navigates it, or them. Here we 
have change in direction too ; the banks receding on one 
side and trenching on the other, and so altering or leaving 
the original bed. For long reaches there are no mountains 
which immediately influence the course of these rivers. 
The interval which forms their banks, is the product of over- 
flows which leave deposits of soil, and is constantly becom- 
ing higher and higher, and the banks of the river in propor- 
tion, deeper and deeper. It is a curious fact that what a 
river, or sea, or lake, gains in one direction, it loses in 
another, the opposite. In Ravenna, we have a remarkable 
instance of this. The Mediterranean has encroached upon 
the land here ; so that ships now float over land to which 
ships used to be moored, the rings through which the ropes 
passed being visible at the bottom of the clear sea ; or in 
walls of buildings now submerged. The sea has receded 
on the other opposite side. 

I said, the lordly Danube, and it is so. It takes its broad 
rise miles and miles away, and rushes on through narrow 
and broad channels, making islands of sand here, and 



JOURNAL. 361 

washing tliem away there at its own leisure and pleasure. 
At times it seems abruptly stopped. The steamer has dead 
before her a mountain, which approaching towards, seems to 
touch its opposite neighbour. We kee23 on without a check 
to the steam, and when ruin seems inevitable, a way opens, 
— the mountains gracefully part, swelling away and aloft, 
as if rejoicing in their own magnificence, and abroad stream 
is ready to give us free passage out of the seeming danger. 

The character and uses of the mountain banks of the 
Danube depend much upon their aspect. The mountain 
side against which the sun pours its warmest rays, — the 
southern aspect, is most cultivated. Not a foot of soil is 
wasted. Where the slope is very steep, the process is to 
build terraces, or steps, a stone wall forming the front. 
They recede from each other, having a surface for cultivation 
in proportion to the slope. There are pathways between 
them for the vine-dressers. The whole eff'ect is very pleas- 
ing. The height affects the cultivation and product. At 
the highest points, the vines are least luxuriant. The sun 
Avould seem there to have less power than below. Where 
the slope is gradual, and terraces are unnecessary, the wash- 
ing of soil, and manure, serves to increase the richness of 
the lower portions of a vineyard, and the difference between 
the vines here compared with the higher is striking. Our 
notion of a grape-vine is of a plant covering a great deal of 
space, ascending trees, trellises, &c. Here, on the Danube, 
they appear from the distance seen, to be short, cut in close, 
so as to have no more wood than will be fruit-bearing. 
They are planted in rows from below to the top, and are 
kept perfectly clean, as is our maize. The vine-dressers 
are women. You see them everywhere, diminishing to the 
smallest size, and at length, to my. imperfect vision, passing 
into the invisible. 

The Danube is full of histories. It is crowded with cas- 
tles in ruins, with their stories of tl:e stern, semi-barbarous 
ages in which they were built. They hang over the river 
31 



362 JOUKNAL. 

as if designed to be tumbled down upon any who might 
invade them. Some of them have been repaired, and have 
become the beautiful and peaceful homes of men, women, 
and children. Few things attract one more after having 
passed himdreds, I might almost say, of ruinous domestic 
fortresses, — the w^alls only left, and these in places broken 
into all sorts of shapeless, graceless forms, — few things attract 
us more than the restoration of one of these castles. You 
see the lawn with its fine trees, edged with flowers, — 
children at play, and the curious eyes at the large open 
windows, watching the approach of the steamer, the only 
m.oving thing which breaks the repose of these solitary 
mountains. Reaches into a valley are here, and here again 
is culture for ornament, or use. Everything human is 
alive, and for good. There is no fear, and no appearance of 
defence. 

Fellow Passengers. — Our steamer was the Austria. 
I asked an old officer her name before I had learned it. He 
said she was the Astrea. This was classical at least, and 
as the name of the Goddess of Justice, — the only member of 
the family which remained on earth, — I shall retain it. The 
Astrea' s human freightage was great, and its kind vari- 
ous. The boat is both theoretically and practically divided 
into two parts, by an imaginary line drawn across the deck, 
immediately abaft the paddle-boxes or houses. The part in 
front of this line is dedicated to all classes of passengers, 
except the first, who occupy the hinder division of the 
deck. This day the Astrea rejoiced in having the forward 
half of her accommodation filled and crowded with men 
and women of extraordinary appearance and habits. Not a 
child was amongst them. They were labourers, without 
doubt, but being dressed better than peasants, I did not 
make out their specialty, if they had any. They had not 
been long aboard before they began cooking and eating. 
The cuisine was as heterogeneous as may be well imagined. 
Every family seemed to have its own peculiar food. They 



jotJii:N-AL. 363 

had all sorts of vessels containing drink, and each seemed 
jDleased with what he or she had. Having satisfied them- 
selves, they went to the water cask on deck, and drank 
largely of water. All this was done in the forenoon; 
whether as breakfast or dinner, I did not learn. The last 
movement was with the water jugs, which each filled from 
the cask. What next ? I was reading a new volume, and I 
was interested in every new leaf. They now prepared to 
go to bed. Recollect the time and the hour. They spread 
all sorts of things on the deck, — a very thick stufi" with a 
shaggy side, in which the wool lay close, an inch in length, 
was a very general bed. One man made a regular bed. 
Half of a log split in the middle was the pillow, a jacket 
the pillow-case, his blanket the bed. Upon these he 
stretched his remarkable long self, and went to sleep. 
Variations in beds occurred as materials difiered, but to the 
sleepers, a sufficiently comfortable sort of arrangement was 
reached. There upon the deck they slept much of the day. 
They neither snored nor moved. There they were, crowded 
close together, like animals of more legs, the sun pouring 
upon them like hot fire, until hands and faces gleamed 
with intense redness, as if combustion would soon reach 
them. For a time the hat or cap was put over the face, but 
it was pretty clear it was a lost labour, so soon was it 
blown or shaken away. They roused up somewhat at noon, 
went again to eating and drinking, but soon addressed 
themselves again to sleep. All night upon the deck, things 
were arranged much as in the day, with some additional 
bedding, perhaps. I wandered amongst them till late in 
the evening, and there they lay asleep in shirt sleeves, or 
covered, just as chance was. The dew fell heavy upon 
them, but this was unheeded. They scarcely moved till we 
reached Lintz the next morning. Now these fellow pas- 
sengers were not paupers. Not a bit of it. Their whole 
appearance, and outfit showed better than this. I saw one 
with a watch, and everybody had his meershaum, or pipe, 



364 jounxAL. 

and of course could buy his tobacco. It was an incident in 
my wanderings, these men and v^omen, and I was giad that 
what seemed a hard lot, could be borne with so little com- 
plaint, or better, and truer, no complaint at all. Was it hard 
at all ? I s]3oke of the meerschaum. Everybody uses it, 
and at all times. One in the Astrea slept with his in his 
mouth, — and a great heavy thing is the pipe, and the 
wonder with me was how he contrived to keep it between 
his teeth while asleep. But he succeeded. One of this 
company especially attracted me, and you may add profes- 
sionally ; no matter for the reason. He was suffering from 
fever and ague, — intermittent fever. This was the day for 
a paroxysm, and he had it. 

" And when the fit was on him, I did mark 
How he did shake." 

It was a hot day. He got close to the hot smoke pipe, in 
the burning sun, and still he was cold. His skin was 
colourless, and shrunk and wrinkled up, as if he had be- 
come " instant old." I spoke to him, but it was in an 
unknown tongue, I succeeded in getting him covered up, 
and gave him some hot drink. The spirit in which this 
was done, it may be, or as you may say, the spirit in, or of 
the drink, wrought the miracle, for he was soon quiet, and 
slept with the rest. 

We continued on, till the twilight had shut in, say be- 
tween nine and ten, and then stopped at Grain, to wait for 
daybreak, which would be between two and three. This 
was made necessary by the uncertain course of the river, 
which rendered it utterly impossible to thread our way in 
the dark. To have upset, or down sunk such a boat load 
of life, such as it was, was a possibility not to be entertained 
for a moment. The captain's judgment was highly ap- 
proved. As we were to stop here till daylight, an English 
gentleman whom I had found very agreeable, — another 
passenger, — and myself, agreed to leave the boat, and to 



JOURNAL. 365 

go into the town. From the landing the ascent was steep, 
and as we ascended, we saw arches, with garlands, &c., 
across the way, and learned that a large building on our left, 
and in which there were lights, was a castle belonging to the 

Duke of , and that he was now in it. This explained 

the arches. We thought it too late for a call on his Grace, 
and held our way. After some time we reached what 
seemed a square, and in two houses there were lights. We 
selected the brightest, and of course the best, and went in. 
It proved to be a beer house, and in the public room was 
company of various kinds. There was a billiard table in 
the centre, and a party of two very well looking young men 
was playing with three balls ; very large, one white, and 
two red. There were five pieces which looked like large 
chess men, or very, very small nine-pins. These were 
j^laced in the centre of the table, and he who knocked one 
or more of these down, lost two or more in the count, 
twenty-four being game. Each was so to play, that neither 
his own ball, or the one or more of the two other balls he 
struck by it, should strike one or more of the centre pins. 
In order to avoid this, most of the strokes were for, or from 
the cushion. To me the game, which was called the Italian 
game, was intricate. I watched the party some time with 
pleasure. It required constantly the making of angles, and 
this was well managed. They played well. They were 
quiet, said but little, and made no fuss, but took great 
interest in what they were about. Other company was 
present, of different classes, eating, drinking, and smoking. 
Our party was an observing body, obeying surrounding 
influences, and not a little occupied with our fellow citizens. 
There was one feature in the feast which was noticeable, — 
its abundance. Few things have amused me more, if such 
a fact have any amusement in it, than the pinching parsi- 
mony, and penury of Hotel supplies of food in some parts of 
Europe. It was sometimes really ridiculous. Again and 
31* 



366 JOURNAL. 

again hare I rang, and with a will, to learn of the servant, 
where, iqDon what part of the table, was the breakfast, or if 
he supposed a man on his travels could bo sustained upon 
such homoeopathic doses of roll and butter before him. But 
the servant is alwaj^s true to his place, and to the existing 
sj'-stem. Instead of going off in hot haste, and bringing 
you with a rush, baskets full of rolls, and whole lumps of 
butter, he would come lumbering up with one roll, and a 
dollar-sized mass of butter, and put them down as if he had 
done a good day's work, and satisfied any man's reasonable 
capacity for food. But here in Grain, what a generous spirit 
there was ! Bread, cheese, and beer in fullest abundance ; 
pipes and excellent tobacco for the smoker,' and then the 
service ! These it was which made the night on the banks of 
the Danube for record, and for memory. The service was 
very pleasant, — nice, neat servant-maids, with an elder to 
preserve the balance between service and served. But it 
was getting late, and the bill was asked for. It was just ten 
English pence, about the smallest bill for three, we had ever 
seen. It was paid, and we left for the Astrea, 

The steamer lay where we left her. We got on board as 
we could, it being as dark as pitch. There was the heavy 
load on the forward deck, in death-like sleep, and we knew 
how crowded must be the cabin. It was matter for debate 
whether we should pass the short night on deck, or go 
below. The latter was preferred, and down we went. 
What a jDlace was it. It was full of men, some sleeping on 
chairs, one for the legs, — and others on the floor, as chance 
or necessity demanded, — in full dress. It was a day-boat. 
A very feeble light was burning, as I passed, or threaded 
my way through all sorts of personal windings, in an atmos- 
phere alike intolerable for odour, and for heat. I saw 
stretched out on one side a very white leg, — a stocking- 
covered leg, as I supposed, but whether it belonged to smj 
one, or to whom, could not be learned, for the rest of the 



JOUKNAL. 367 

dress and the person were lost in the general darkness. I 
was much exercised by this singular vision, for the cabin 
was for men and women hy day. But I will not pursue the 
subject. 

I fell asleep, and began, an unwonted thing, to dream. In 
such an atmosphere, and so closely packed, " thick coming 
fancies " were to be expected. In the midst of my dream I 
woke myself by audibly asking "Is anybody here," follow- 
ing the question by this comment, " How ridiculous to ask 
such a question in such a crowd." My next chair neighbour, 
my new English acquaintance, told me in the morning that 
he heard me ask that most strange question in such a crowd. 
The steamer got under weigh about three, and I at once left 
my chair, and w5nfc upon deck, where I staid till the cabin 
was emptied and aired, and then went below and rested, 
from as much fatigue as I have experienced for many a day, 
or rather night, 

LiNTZ. July 15. — This is on the Danube, and is the 
capital of Upper Austria. It is of considerable size, and 
from the stir, would seem to be a place of much business. 
There are railways, with horse power, in the business streets 
near the river. It was pleasant to see how so many heavy 
goods, in various kinds, could be carried from place to place, 
with very little labour to man or beast. This rail arrange- 
ment may exist elsewhere, but I do not remember to have 
met with it before. I walked about Lintz at my leisure, 
and, as is my wont, went to the market or square. This is 
quite a nice affair. The houses and shops are very neat, — 
some quite handsome. A most elaborate and lofty cross of 
stone is in the centre of the square. The market is for 
vegetables, fruits, and flowers. The cherries were large 
and fine. A basket o^ apricots quite won my heart. They 
were larger than I had ever seen, and of delicious flavour. 
I bought them for two-pence halfpenny a-piece. I went 
into the shops, and found them well supplied with goods, 



368 JOIJENAL. 

and, as I thouglit, at cheap rates. The views about Lintz 
are fine. Before you is the river, which divides the town 
into two parts, which are connected by a bridge four hun- 
dred paces long. I was on the left side of the river, reck- 
oning from its head or run. Large hills, or small moun- 
tains, rise in all directions, and are exquisitely cultivated. 
It was full noon, and the sun was shining in his power, 
presenting in form and colours, — in lights and shades, just 
such pictures as you would love to sketch. On quite a high 
hill is a castle, or fortress, of great strength apparently, and 
at present garrisoned by an artillery corps. Circular forts 
are seen on various parts of the hill, to aid defence, I 
spoke of colours as presented by forest and fell, in the beau- 
tiful landscapes about Lintz. The variety pf culture is very 
great, as in other parts of Austria, and managed, of course, 
by women. 

The appearance of people in Lintz corresponds well with 
what is observed elsewhere in Austria. Street-begging, — 
barefooted, and barelegged women, doing all the work, and 
getting very little of the pay, — their erect and fine forms, 
— their self-possessed, graceful manner of walking, are all 
matters of observation. They carry heavy burdens on 
their heads, arms, shoulders, and at times you might think 
they would sink under the weight. I was sitting at a win- 
dow, when looking up, I saw a girl of pleasing countenance, 
standing motionless, with the marks of poverty in her whole 
appearance, not uttering a word, but in her profound silence 
laying her claim for charity. She received what was offered, 
and slowly went away. Soldiers abound as usual, and 
well-built barracks for their accommodation. 

I dined at noon, and soon afler took the horse railway 
for Gmoonden. This was a novel afternoon's experience. 
The train was the most wretched thing ever looked at. 
Everything was out of order. TSe cushions, worn out, 
were as rough as well could be, and were constantly slip- 
ping, taking you along with them. The window curtains 



JOURNAL. 369 

were useless. The heat was intolerable, and the dust worse. 
The carriages loaded with men, women, and children, all 
doing their worst to get best seats. Rarely have I suffered 
more. The road had hardly been graded at all. Happily 
for us we had horse power only, and the drivers did all they 
could to keep the train on the rails. As a compensation, 
we stopped often, apparently to accommodate the dwellers 
on the road side, for women and children were everywhere, 
with cold water, and cherries and raspberries in abundance 
for sale, and I assure you the demand was great. Then, by 
way of change, we were beset by beggars, dwarfs, all sorts 
of sore, of sick, of mutilated men, women, and children, 
begging for charity. It seemed like nothing so much as an 
out-door travelling hospital, or rather almshouse, for these 
poor creatures were often far away from anything like 
homes. I should not omit to state that in our train was 
the whole company of our fellow-passengers in the steamer, 
who lived so harmoniously by night and by day on her for- 
ward deck. We reached the town in safety. I stopped at 
the Golden Ship, — called Golden, I suppose, because, except 
in the lettering of the sign, not a particle of gold could be 
seen. It was a wretched house, but a fitting terminus of 
such a railway. 

The slowness of the train gave excellent opportunity to 
see the country, and rarely have I been more gratified than 
by this region of Stiria. Some miles before we reached the 
lake, a glorious range of mountains was in view. They 
are now abrupt and solitary, and very high, — and now 
stand with companions at their side, stretching far away, 
losing in the distance both height and distinctness. One of 
the first class especially demanded attention. It rose before 
me in perfect loneliness and nakedness, — its cold gray 
granite would have distinguished it from all others had any 
been in view. The table land, upon which was the rail, 
rose high before this gigantic mass among mountain rocks, 
so that its base seemed on the horizon, when in fact it was 



370 JOXJENAL. 

far this side of it. It raised its bald head, somewhat bend- 
ing from the perj^endicular, as by its own weight, its age, 
its infirmity, — it raised its head into the skies, and pre- 
sented an object as unique as it was grand. Deep channels 
could be seen at the great distance I was from it, running in 
deep j)arallel directions from above, downw'ards, haxning the 
inclination of the mountain itself. This is the Traunstein, 
— the " mountain of sorrow," — standing all alone there, 
mourning that its lofty head has lost its crown. The range 
just alluded to is the Steiermarker, which gives name to 
Stiria. It so lay before me, in regard to the sun, that his 
setting rays swept by it as in perspective, making its irre- 
gularities more striking by the lights of the edges, and the 
shadows of the depressions, in the surface over w^hich they 
passed. The Traunstein was seen under a similar aspect to 
the sun. The light which was reflected from its deep cut 
side, which was before me, was of purple and silver colour, 
now distinct, and now blended, making the very mountain 
to glow, as if it v\^ere the source of its own light. A slight 
mist did not obscure, but seemed to make it more distinct. 
I have seen few things more gorgeous, more sublime. It is 
before me, now that I am reading my record of it, as if it 
were near, as if it were seen by me from my room, at this 
hour, so long before the dawn of the autumnal day. I am 
sure that no external objects do so deeply impress the mind, 
as do these vast, but defined masses which make mountain 
scenery. They sink, by their size and weight, into the very 
mind, and allow nothing else to disturb them in their deep 
resting place. I do not know that I have given you any 
notion of this scene. How heartily do I wdsh you had seen 
it with me, — had entered with me into the solemn mys- 
teries of this temple of Nature, and been filled and satisfied 
with the vision, — the sun, with its subject earth, in con- 
current, willing harmony. 

I will detain you but a moment in my quarters in the 
Golden Ship. The hotel was a quadrangle of much size, 



JOURNAL. 371 

my rooms looking into the square space inclosed by its 
sides, and enormous were tliey. They seemed modelled 
upon the plan of the neighbouring mountains. My parlour 
was a slice, a mounstrous one, cut off from a larger, the 
partitions not extending by any means to the ceiling, and 
surmounted by a cornice. The light of my two wax can- 
dles hardly lighted its extreme termination. In a neigh- 
bouring slice of space, a neighbour dwelt, and his various, 
and sometimes questionless movements, and noises, were 
most audibly present to me, in themselves, and seemingly 
in their echoes. I was bodily jaded out with that recent 
railway travel, and most welcome would have been an 
earlier sleep. But I said nothing, and did nothing, though 
one was almost tempted to throw his boots over that frown- 
ing cornice, to quiet the noises behind it, had there been 
strength enough to have accomplished such a purpose. 

Early next morning, up and out. I was rewarded for my 
sunrise walk. The lake, lying near the house, is exquisitely 
beautiful. It was somewhat rough, its slight waves broke 
gently upon the shingle which covered its shore. It was 
absolutely set in mountains. They interlaced each other as 
if jealous lest such beauty should be too much exposed, 
while like a giant guardian rose above all the rest, the 
Traunstein, the " rock of sorrow." 1 had looked for hours 
yesterday upon this mountain far away. But now there was 
he in his majesty, and solemn nakedness, his neighbours 
rejoicing in the green foliage which clothed them, and 
which the giant wanted. After breakfast we took the 
steamer and passed through the lake. It was a grand 
morning. The mountains did not desert the lake for an 
inch of the way. In every spot, however small, upon 
which anything useful to man or beast can grow, you see 
the steady and sturdy hand of labour, making its mark, and 
there, you feel it would never be effaced. I am constantly 
seeing this in every variety of expression. You can always 
read the story. Here was the grape growing. There, were 



372 JOUHNAL. 

oats, wheat, barley. On a little spot on this small lake was 
a church. The village around could hardly count ten 
houses, yet here was industry declaring itself, and apparently 
on a scale so small that it seemed but child's play. I was 
told that in the aggregate of such small farmings was found 
the means suiScient for the hamlet's sustenance. And there 
was the church, in its solitariness sure of repose in its own 
creed, and doubtless better and happier for its loneliness. I 
said : — 

" That if jDeace were on earth, we might look for it here." 
Dense smoke was driving out of a deep ravine between two 
mountains. I was told by the engineer that yesterday a fire 
had been there, and a house had been burned. It was still 
burning. It was sad that so solitary a household should be 
driven from their beautiful and comfortable home, but the 
engineer did not doubt that the people of the church village 
nearly opposite, would at once turn out, and aid the house- 
less to replace the old by the new. We landed not far from 
the place of the fire, and took coach for — 

IscHL. — Our drive was on the bank of the river through 
a valley made by opposite ranges of mountains upon which 
snow and ice still were, and would survive the hot summer 
below. The road was as smooth as any coach-way through 
a gentleman's grounds ; while the transparent river kept its 
way amid the silence around it. I say the transparent river. 
I have walked along its banks, and could have seen every 
pebble over which its deep waters flow. Ischl owes its 
fame and fortune to the transparency, and softness of its 
waters, and to its magnificent scenery. Crowds come here for 
its baths as a luxury, and as a means of health. Ischl is 
like Gmoonden, set in mountains, as is a picture in a frame. 
You need go hardly a step before you may begin to ascend, 
and passing through all climates, come at length where the 
power of winter is never usurped, or overcome. The moun- 
tains approach the place as old guards, to save it from harm. 



JounNAL. 373 

It is one of the many spots in this region, which have been 
to me daily objects of the deepest interest. 

Ischl is a resort of fashion. The Emperor passes a portion 
of the summer in this his favourite retreat. This gives charac- 
ter to the place. You have nice shops, nice walks, near the 
clear water, — shrubberies, and what not. The place has 
its illustrated guide-book, with very good engravings of 
mountain, lake, and waterfall, — an excellent aid to memory. 
The hotel is pleasantly placed, and well managed. I left 
Ischl July 18th, at five, a. m., in a hired carriage, for Salz- 
burg, a crack place among the mountains in the Austrian 
Tyrol, and getting to be the most visited of any other portion 
of this region. It was a beautiful morning. I have rarely 
known one more so. Mountains, valleys, lakes, these were 
my " small deer," all day. At times, a range would be 
suddenly interrupted, as if the last one had been finished, and 
the work of mountain making had there been stopped. Per- 
haps half a mountain only has been finished, and there it 
stands as a mural wall against the sky, a boundary beyond 
which you were not to pass. You drive along a few miles, 
and the chain is begun again, and the old rocks, the firs, 
and the lake are reproduced. I was much attracted by the 
seeming interruptions, but still continuousness of chains. 
These mountains had probably common bases, but grew, or 
were forced up independently, — having difi'erent forms, 
and produce an endless variety of efi'ects. The lakes de- 
serve notice. They are now of the deepest blue, — and 
now of the richest green. If you are imaginative, you 
might suppose that the bordering forest had washed in one, 
and left its colour in the water ; and that there in another, 
the sky had bathed. Streams proceed from these lakes, 
and take their colours with them, giving beauty and refresh- 
ment to the drive along their banks. 

We were constantly meeting peasants on the road. " They 
were very neatly dressed in the costume of the place. They 
walked rapidly after the manner of mountaineers, or as most 
32 



374 JOUKNAL. 

people walk here ; with bundles or baskets on then- heads, or 
arms. What it meant I could not tell. Certainl)' the dress 
was not like that worn in the market, and many had no 
burden, but went along swinging their arms with a gait 
and air of much grace. This was particularly the case with 
the women. The dress of the men was handsome. The 
hat is green, with ribands of a another tint. It is low, 
with a wide brim. Flowers of various kinds are worn in 
the hat. Some had feathers, or a wild bird's wing, a sign 
that they were hunters, and looking for emjDloyment. For 
the body, a closely fitting jacket of dark or black colours. 
Dark or black breeches, fitting close, with ribands at the 
knee. Green stockings, with gaiters, or short boots. The 
colours were according to the taste of the Avearer. The men 
were tall, and walked easily, and so gracefully. The women 
were simpler dressed. The}'' wore a close fitting jacket, or 
short sac, with a short, and apparently heavy petticoat. For 
the head, no covering except the hair. This has special 
care, wherever appearance is studied, and nowhere is it 
more luxuriant, or finer. A German lady told me that 
the hair is seldom or never cut in German3^ It is allowed 
to grow, and gets great length. It is softer and fairer if so 
managed, and longer preserves its colour. This is more 
remarkable in the working classes, who, for the most part, 
carry burdens on the head. Sometimes they have a padded 
ring which fits tbe part of the head which supports the 
weight, and may preserve the hair. I was pleased witn the 
lightness, the ease, and grace of these Tyrolese, and the 
numbers of both sexes were enough for judgment. Walking 
was perfectly easy, and though some carried large burdens, 
they were nothing behind their fellows who did not. They 
were strong, not fat and clumsy, nor lean, wiry, scraggy. 
They were in " trim," and there was no doubt of their 
ability to do what they had to do. They could care for 
themselves. You saw they were not overworked, or rather 
did not overwork themselves. They were well-looking. 



JOURNAL. 375 

Their complexion clear, and expression good.- By far tlie 
greater number were young, and had not yet felt the power 
of constant out-door labour, to shorten youth, and destroy 
beauty, which is so commonly the experience of women here. 

We drove along, and soon came to a post-house or inn, 
where we stopped for breakfast. As we approached it we 
saw a church, a very small building, nearly opposite the inn. 
A procession was just entering it with banners, but whether 
a funeral, or a festival, was not apparent. The bells were 
ringing. "It is Sunday, Sir," said my courier. "Well, 
it is strange," said I, " but I do not recollect a Sunday for 
some time." Travelling so constantly, and frequently long 
distances, and going daily into churches in Catholic States, 
with the perpetual ringing of bells, had confounded all dis- 
tinctions of days ; and so time in a continuous stream of 
events went flowing on, carrying you so gently along with 
it, that you hardly knew the beginning or the ending, cer- 
tainly not its arbitrary divisions which are so universal, and 
so indisjDcnsable to the busy, working world elsewhere. A 
perfectly parallel experience was mine, nearly half' a century 
ago. I had, with my friend and fellow pupil, the late Prof. 
John Revere, been travelling on foot in the Highlands of 
Scotland. We were entering Callender, the first stage from 
Loch Katrine, and found the peasantry abroad in unusual 
numbers, and very carefully dressed. A bell was tolling. We 
stopped and asked a person what it all meant. He said it 
was Sunday, and the people were going to church. 

While our breakfast was in preparation, and our horses 
were eating theirs, I walked with Charles into this village 
church. A church and an inn are always found together 
in these scattered populations. The New Englander adds a 
school, — the district (often pronounced deestrict, you know,) 
school. The Arabian of old had the mosque, the hospital, 
the caravansary, and the college. Each in their several 
ways, meeting the demand existing, or to be, of the people. 
I lilve these village churches. They are small, but built in 



376 JOURNAL. 

good taste ; simple, but wisely so. They may promise little 
on the outside. Inside they show the feeling of the people, 

— their strong desire to make them attractive. They have 
in them pictures, images, — the Cross. It always seems to 
me that religion, — worship, — Sunday, — have a meaning 
here in Europe. I often see, alike in the simplest and 
in the most gorgeous churches, the most wretched looking 
beings you can imagine, on their knees, their hands clasped, 

— their eyes riveted to the Cross, — the whole soul given to 
the service. At times, tears flow in streams, as if the very 
heart Avere breaking in the living presence and suffering of 
utter poverty, — the remembrance of unforgiven sin, — in 
the sure prospect of the solemn and sad future^ until there 
is rest in the bosom, and love of Him who is symbolized 
there. I went into the church. It is called St. Gilden's 
Church, and surely is it gilded, as in enti e correspondence 
with the name of the Patron Saint. The post-house was 
full. The earliest morning service was over, and the wor- 
shippers were at breakfast. They must have come from a 
distance. I saw no houses near. There were travellers 
among them, for I saw coming from among the trees, which 
skirt and cover much of the lower portions of the moun- 
tains, half a dozen or more men carrying long poles with 
chairs suspended between them. These were guides, and 
bearers of travellers among the mountains. It was pleasant 
among these old Stirian mountains to see so much of the life 
of the dwellers in them. It was an exquisite morning, and 
the assemblage was probably greater for that. Costume, 
manners, language, voice, were all before you for observation 
and thought, and you felt glad for the whole display. I 
went from the church, and then returned to the inn ; and 
found C. had arranged my breakfast upon the piazza, the 
surroundings of which were an arbour of hanging vines, 
making it as nice a spot as could have been desired. Very 
near were many ringdoves, and a most thriving and beauti- 
ful family was it. As soon as I had taken my seat at the 
table, these feathered friends began to descend upon, and 



JOURNAL. 377 

soon covered it. Tliey were very well behaved birds, and 
partook of such portions of my abundant meal, as I put 
before them, sometimes helping themselves. They were 
perfectly at home, and I hardly know when I have had a 
pleasanter party. Was there not a lesson in it? You 
know what Shakespeare says, — 

" tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 

Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 

Why not in a breakfast party of ring doves, with their beau- 
tiful forms, and gentle note ? You know my intercourse 
with the biped without feathers was never very intimate, nor 
wide, — and has often been ^vanted, and this without being 
missed. The doves were not my only society. A dog was 
quietly basking in the warm Sabbath sun, and hearing the 
gentle cooings of my friends, slowly roused himself, and 
came with- wagging tail to join my party. The first news of 
his advent, was seeing his fore-paws on my nice table-cloth, 
and then his nose projected between them. His counten- 
ance was quite pleasing, and soon told his wants. The 
doves seemed perfectly acquainted with him, and were not 
at all disturbed at the extension of my hospitality to our 
new guest. But the carriage drove to the door, and with 
refreshed man and beast, we took up our journey for Hoff 
Church, so called. Our road lay through scenery which was 
a continuation of that already described, — mountain, valley, 
and lake, with the variety incident to such formations. The 
day was warm, but there was too much for pleasure, to 
make complaint very audible, if expressed at all. He is not 
far from content who, for the time, has forgotten, or neglected 
to complain. 

We reached Hoff at noon, and halted. The church was 
opposite the inn, larger than the last, and of better archi- 
tecture. Its interior arrangements, and appointments, were 
more imposing, altogether showing the same care which T 
have so generally found abroad in places of worship. But 
whence, or where the people ? Nothing like a village is to 
32* 



378 JOURNAL. 

be seen, and yet it was clear that there was a congregation. 
The inn was crowded with company. The daughters of the 
host were nicely dressed, and handsome, with excellent com- 
plexion, and of good manner. They did not look as if their 
lives were passed in the field, or in any more toil than was 
consistent with the best looks and the best health. The 
mountain girl who was walking in her Sunday dress, in 
shoes, stockings, and bright ribands, with a gay handkerchief 
round the head, a glossy hair, with streaming ends, down 
the back, — why, the field worker, it may be, is to-day a 
lady, and with friends, father and mother, is on her way to 
or from church, passing the interval time at rest, or in 
pleasure. And who would have stinted her of either ? I 
knew she would pass some of this time in the house of her 
worship, and then make merry with her friends. I rejoice 
in such a Sabbath, making preparation for the rfext week's 
duties, and peradventure for Heaven. But does not habit 
destroy the whole effect of such offices? No. If you 
would have virtue sure, make it habitual. Vice finds its 
strength and perpetuity in the deep worn tracks of habit. 
The drunkard was not made one by a single glass, — and 
the wretched creature who is now poor, and naked, and 
starved, with millions, might have been once happy with a 
cent. I have heard of one who said he must retrench, for 
he had a large sum in the bank which he could not let. He 
only lent out money on usance. No. If I have learned 
anything which I had not been so taught before, it is the 
important, immovable power of habit in regard to that, 
and those things, the object of which is reverence, — the 
recognition and love of something higher, and better than 
one's self. Yes, you say, if accompanied with a purpose, 
and an effort, to attain to it. I say yes, too. But the 
service is an aid to the thing itself. 

I left the now empty church, to find those for whom it 
had been opened, for whom it always stands open. Children 
were playing in the belfry, in their nice Sunday dresses, and 



JOURNAL. 379 

as keen in their play as young life rejoices to be. Who 
does not love to see these " little beings," as Spurzheim used 
to call them, with the grace, freedom, and variety of their 
movement, showing life in its freshness and beauty, — the 
resurrection of your own happy childhood, and a promise of 
immortality ? Lavater says : " Keep that man at least three 
yards distance who hates bread, music, and the laugh of a 
child." I reverence the old aphorist for that. But there 
were men in the scene. It was dinner time. The hall ran 
through the middle of the post-house, the door at one end, 
opening to the road, the other to the yard. It was filled 
with small tables for one or two, on each side, while adja- 
cent rooms were for families. - I passed up and down the 
hall, and saw there many and various guests at their Sun- 
day dinner. It was simple, — bread, cheese, beer, with some ; 
and more complicated fare with others. Some had got to 
the dessert, which, for the most part, was a pipe. There 
was good humour, pleasantry, but nothing boisterous, noisy, 
disturbing the neighbourhood by its misplaced outbreaks. 
Some were in the bowling alleys, playing, amusing them- 
selves with the exercise, and the success of skill. Every- 
body was active. The rest of the Sabbath was not a 
sleeping rest. There was the earnestness of labour, without 
the toil, — enjoyment without fatigue. The nation speaks 
in these, its most numerous representatives ; and there was 
refinement in the utterance. I went abroad to see men and 
women ; not kings and lords, — ladies and gentlemen, — 
for these are common enough, such as they are, everywhere. 
I went to see men and women at work, and at pla}^ — to 
see what is Sunday and Monday, and the rest of the week. 
The Sabbath, as the word imports, is everywhere for rest, 
— the repose of worship, — and the rest from toil. The 
remainder of the week is used in Catholic Europe, as it is 
in the Protestant world, — work, work, work, of some 
kind, fills it all. 

We left for Salzburg, and in good time reached this 



380 JOURNAL. 

important point in recent Continental travel. Salzburg is 
emphatically a city of mountains. You travel towards it, 
among these, but of far less height than those you are 
approaching. On every hand you see them projected into 
the regions of perpetual winter, with snow for their crown- 
ing. The solemnity of the silence of Nature is here. I 
was glad to have reached the end of my route in this direc- 
tion. Was it not a fitting closing of so much which had 
daily given me so much pleasure, — in which, whether I 
would or no, I had felt elevated by the sublime of the out- 
ward world ; in which I had, under most favourable circum- 
stances, lived, and moved, and had my being ? The mode 
of travel to such a region was perfect. It was the slow% 
private coach, in which I could travel hours, without the 
tedious impertinences of railway crowdings, — and with a 
vulgar speed, which make it a toil to attempt to see what 
you are flying by. The old six or eight miles an hour, is 
your only true speed. Our road winds round a low moun- 
tain of rock. It rises perfectly smooth from the ground, 
and is perpendicular, — a mural rock. On the edges of it, 
aloft, you see trees and shrubs. This is the " outer wall " 
of the fortress, and city of Salzburg. There is the gentle 
Saal, from which is the city named, and here is one of the 
city's chief defences. It need hardly be said that it is a 
city of great natural strength. Its old castle is but a quiet 
place now. You enter by a gateway, which at once gives 
you a notion of the thickness of the walls. You pass 
through an arched passage, — and then another gate, — each 
with its portcullis, suspended by enormous, chains above, 
just ready to fall as you pass, — another archway, another 
gate. The outer mountain wall seems to have been the 
work of art, so smooth, so regular its surface. But it is a 
single piece, and your error in regard to its construction is 
at once corrected. There was art and science, too, in the 
selection of such a spot for a city, 

" . . . . . i' the oklen time. 
Ere human statute purged the gentle weal." 



JOURNAL. 381 

From the termination of the range, the intervening spaces 
are occupied by works, which rival in strength the natural 
walls. It is in the natural, however, that Salzburg has its 
true attraction. It is in the surrounding scenery it has its 
true power. I had the very best opportunity, in approach- 
ing it, to see the universal majesty. The sun was bright. 
There was not a cloud. There was no mist upon the moun- 
tains. The whole outline of the landscape, — the near and 
the remote, — was seen, and under every advantage, whe- 
ther of detail, or of masses. I had never been in such a 
presence before. On reaching the hotel, I told C. to get an 
open carriage at once, for, with the long twilight, we had 
time for some hours' drive among the mountains. Other 
travellers were leaving the hotel on a like expedition. But 
before we were ready, clouds had gathered from the four 
winds, and covered the heavens with a blackness, the like of 
which I could not remember. Thunder and lightning were 
on every side, and the echoing mountains repeated the story. 
Rain soon fell in torrents. It had been a long drought. 
The electric equilibrium had been gradually disturbed, and 
the heavy charged batteries were now at successful play. I 
sat at my window, and enjoyed the scene, while I regretted 
the sudden and conclusive stop which had been- put to a 
plan which promised so much pleasure. I had been on the 
road since five, — my only meal through the day was my 
breakfast with the doves. But I was neither tired nor hun- 
gry. The rest of the storm, I did not want. The heat in 
the close city was intense, and C. advised me to wait till it 
was cooler. I did, and washed, dressed, and dined. These 
operations took little time ; but it was long enough for the 
quick thunder storm to declare itself. There was cause for 
more than content, with arrangements which prevented a 
further drive, and a thorough soaking. The thunder storm 
ended in a steady rain. All prospects of a fair day succeed- 
ing being at an end, my arrangements were made for leaving 
next morning. The oldest inhabitant predicted a regu- 



382 JOURNAL. 

lar iveather, as Dryclen has it. C. was directed to get a 
seat in the coupe, the best seat, — in diligence or by rail, 
for seeing, — and the only one sure against crowding. 

Morning, rain, and darkness. Got away early. C. pointed 
out the coupe of the carriage he had selected for me. I 
found the seat covered with cloaks, hags, &c. You know 
the amount better than I do. But I squeezed in. My pro- 
gress was, however, soon impeded, by words and pulls from 
behind, and turning round, a lady was encountered. She 
told me in plain French to descend ; C, in English, to ascend. 
Whom to mind ? Which to do ? I concluded to descend, 
and there stood the husband, intensely French, and fierce of 
course. He took me for an Englishman, — remembered 
Waterloo, St. Helena, and sundry other marked places on 
the Frenchman's map, and spoke and looked accordingly. 
C, in the meantime, was hunting for the conductor. I ex- 
pressed regret as far as my French Avent, — asked pardon of 
the lady. C. at length appeared, — found he had made a 
mistake, — had read his ticket wrong, — gave a Danish 
smile, — pulled his wig, — made no sort of apology, — in 
short, conducted himself to the French as coolly as the 
Majesty of Denmark himself would have done. At length 
I started, having with me in the coupe, which belonged to 
me, a good stout, and staid looking German lady, and was 
tolerably sure of a quiet time at least. But at every post, 
my Frenchman " looked daggers, though he used none." In 
looking back upon this misadventure, I cannot but think 
that my courier had been won by the smart appearance 
which the Frenchman's diligence presented, as seen by day- 
light, and was willing, as the boys say, to " hook it." He 
never spoke to me of the affair afterwards. 

We were now for miles in the midst of mountains. At 
times their outlines were well marked. At others, the 
clouds covered them. Then the east would grow light, — 
the clouds part, and a ray or two of sunshine would come 
through the fissure, as if the storm was over ; and nothing 



JOURNAL. 383 

can exceed the splendour, the richness of the scene. The 
light would fall upon a heavy cloud. A moment ago it was 
perfectly black. Now it was glowing with light, while 
everything else was in shade. The mountains presented 
constant variety. It soon settled down into a steady rain. 
It would have been worse than idle, to have stopped in 
Salzburg for good weather, I should have only lost my 
time, when there was none to spare. The Pyrenees were 
before me, and the distant Escorial. The last rose of sum- 
mer was in the bud, and I was to be in Liverpool before 
the sailing of the last September steamer. On ! was the 
word. 

We drove quietly along in the slow diligence. My 
fellow-traveller slept, eat German biscuit, got beer when- 
ever we stopped, and seemed to have a nice time. She 
talked, but this served only to use her mouth, when not 
otherwise employed. But she soon learned that she was 
her own and sole auditor, a discovery quite fatal to elo- 
quence. In the evening we reached Munchen, — Minchen, 

— Moonshine, as I heard an American call it, — or Munich, 
in common speech. I soon found myself in very comfort- 
able quarters, in the Hotel Bavaria ; and woke next day, 
early as usual, after an excellent night's rest, ready for the 
business of the day. Munich is on the Isar, as spelt here, 

— not " the Iser rolling rapidly," for the v/ater is so little, 
and so slow, that it hardly seemed to roll at all, as I looked 
down u^Don it from the bridge which crosses it. It is of the 
usual yellow colour of such streams in Germany. 

Munich. July 20t.h. — As soon as the Gallery was 
open, I was in it. It contains treasures gathered from the 
whole and wide domain of art. I went through it, cata- 
logue in hand, and devoted my whole time to the works of 
men of name, and fame, reaching all minds and all hearts 
which have at all been devoted to such authors. Here are 
rooms for Rubens alone. Every master has his representa- 



384 JOURNAL. 

tives here, and so well arranged are tlic rooms for light, 
that everything is easily and perfectly seen. Here are 
works of Snyders in abundance ; works, I have no doubt, as 
achievements of art, of great value. But to me they are 
utterly disagreeable, I had almost said, disgusting. They 
are devoted to every species of killing, of cruelty, — hunt- 
ing gives its scenes to the painter ; and the battles of beasts 
are displayed in their force and enormity. I never stop before 
these pictures of Sjaiders. Here are works of Vandyk (Dyk 
in the catalogue), and what noble things are they. His 
portraits are something more, and beyond a mere copy of 
feature, form, size, proportion, colour. They present to us 
that state of the individual's mind, which gives to his face, 
in the portrait, its present character, and you feel as if you 
were before a 77ian. So strong was this feeling wdth me, 
that I absolutely smiled, and half spoke, as if I could have 
been understood by the fiat surface before me. In few 
things, as it appears to me, does Dyk more excel, than in 
his management of light. His effects from this are so per- 
fect, that he hardly seems to use shadow at all-. I was 
never before so deeply impressed with the power of this 
master. I have never seen so many of his works at one 
time. They were among those which made my visits to the 
Gallery occasions of constantly increased pleasure and of 
memory. There was a landscape by Winyarts, which I 
must notice. It gave me great pleasure, and I wished it 
were mine. It was an exquisite scene, of simple materials, 
masterly handled. It was obviously from nature, not a 
copy, a portrait, but a revelation of what so much objective 
beauty had produced in the mind of the author, — nature 
addressing you through the mind of another. 

The Palace. — Everybody goes to the Palace. It has 
very little architectural attraction. It forms a quadrangle, 
and the large space enclosed is filled with trees, with tables, 
and benches, for the public pleasure. Parties were scat- 
tered round. The cigar, the pipe, the coffee, &;c., &;c., were 



JOURXAL. 385 

in request. The frescoes are worthy of all praise. These 
are on the walls of the surrounding colonnades. After 
waiting long in a corridor of the Palace, the assembled 
were admitted into the rooms. These are in great number, 
and, as usual, ornamented with pictures. In one, the 
females of the Royal Family, and household, covered the 
walls. There was one portrait which particularly attracted 
attention. It was of Lola Moxtes, the favourite of the old 
king. To her was devoted one whole side of the room, her 
picture hanging between two immense windows. As repre- 
sented, she must be quite handsome, and the expression is 
pleasing. It is not at all extraordinary that a discarded 
favourite of royalty should have her portrait among those of 
the kingly family and friends, especially if, as reported, her 
expulsion from the royal precincts was not by royal autho- 
rity. The picture will do the state no harm. 

Palace hunting is the most tedious of sports. The traveller 
Avho thinks it his boundless duty, faithfully to follow it, has 
a wretched prospect. He must go with the crowd, as it 
rushes and races from room to room, from sight to sight. 
The Palace is a sort of lion's den. There is no looking 
back, or treading back. I got excessively tired. I was 
obliged to attempt to rest. There were chairs at hand, 
time-worn, with red woollen coverings. They were not in- 
viting, but I thought anything of the kind would be better 
than nothing, and down I sat. Short was the joy. The 
superannuated guide, who looked as if he might have lived 
through much of Bavarian history, came shuffling, and 
scuffing towards me, making indescribable grimaces, which 
turned out to be natural signs, that I should rise and walk. 
Remonstrance was out of the question. He understood not 
a word I said, and seemed very much disposed to try some 
other form of eloquence than signs. So up I rose, a need- 
less Alexandrian in the epic of an hour, with a sure begin- 
ning, and possible ending, and dragged my slow length 
33 



386 JOUKXAL. 

along. Rejoiced was I when I entered a monstrous large 
room filled with statues of historical men, of colossal size, 
Electors and others, and apparently of solid gold. They 
were certainly gilt. What was below does not appear. 
Behind a golden Elector, I found a seat, and whether under 
the shade of king, or subject, rarely have I found greater 
comfort. The room was attractive, and much time was 
wasted before the Seneschal could collect his forces into 
marching order. I readily joined them, and survived the 
penance. 

The Palace abounds in pictures, of course. They are as 
thick as blackberries in all such residences, — a. form, or 
expression of the patronage of Art, which preserves, while 
it makes public the means of refinement, and culture. As 
there is a vast surface to cover, subjects are often chosen 
which will require large uses, if not waste of canvas. Such 
subjects are battles by sea and land, exhibiting man-killing, 
and brute-killing too, in every form in which such death can 
come. Nothing can equal the horrour of such pictures, but 
the thing itself. In the picture, however, imagination 
coiftes in, and in its exaggerations leaves the product not 
far behind the reality. Such works make an exception to a 
preceding remark on the salutary influences of art. What 
benefit can come of such exhibitions of unmitigated suffer- 
ing ? They hardly can be looked to as arguments for peace. 
But they are historical. They teach history. It is his- 
tory taught in blood, or what is meant to be such. It may 
be a question if, in such language, the lesson is worth 
teaching. 

The Basilica. — This church has been recently finished, 
and at great cost. It is grand in its extent and proportions, 
and of corresponding finish. From flocr to ceiling it is 
complete in all its details, and the product is a sublime 
whole. The marble columns which support the great arches 
above, — the mosaic floor, the stern simplicity of the chancel 
and of what it contains, the windows, the frescoes, — all it 



JOUKNAL. 387 

reveals to you is fitted to excite your awe and admiration. 
Again was I struck with the contrast between church archi- 
tecture in different countries. Here was a church finished 
not long ago, presenting everywhere the venerableness of 
antiquity, — the power of ages long past, and you felt glad 
that here was a teacher for times long to come. 

St. Mary's Church. — This which I saw next is by 
some preferred to the Basilica. But it needs no rival to 
disturb or increase its power. It would blush to have its 
claims settled by comparison with anything else, — the 
model system, in its most offensive form. The St. Mary's 
is Gothic in its plan and detail. The clustered columns of 
the order, of vast size, rise to the high ceiling, and there 
support arches which extend across and make so much of it. 
Nothing can be more beautiful from its exquisite grace, or 
more sublime from its calm dignity, than are these members 
of this order of architecture, in this specimen of it, — the 
columnar growth of the arches above, of the finest marble, 
in perfect proportion and harmony. The space so appropri- 
ated, taken out of the common air, the common world, and 
for such a purpose, is in itself the most important element 
which enters into the constitution and accomplishments of 
public architecture. It is the highest art which so appropri- 
ates, so separat3s such space, as to present to the mind, and 
to the heart, such claims for reverence, and in the revela- 
tion of this sentiment, ministers daily and forever to the 
progress of man. In the Basilica, the ceiling is quite pecu- 
liar, and the questions arise, What does this m-eaii ? and is 
not that out of place ? The questions come from this. 
The columns, the magnificent columns, are single masses of 
stone of a diameter demanded by the space the building 
includes, or the distances between them. The ceiling has 
naked beams arranged precisely after the Gothic, but without 
the groined arches. In the St. Mary's, the Gothic prevails 
everywhere in its simplicity, beauty, power. The arches, 
though so high, so far away, are as distinctly seen in all 



388 JOURNAL. 

tlieir members, as if at liand, — their perfect proportions 
preventing any disturbance in vision, or in thought. I 
state how the ceiling of the Basilica affected me. It seemed 
to want power, massiveness. Wood, and that not large, 
is in too violent contrast with the everlasting uplifting rock 
there, and gives those columns too little to do. The beams 
may be iron. But they are so painted as to resemble wood, 
and so lead us astray. There may be no architectural dis- 
cords in all this. But the effect is not pleasing ; at least it 
was not so to me. It did not satisfy me. The relation 
between the parts was not perfect. I did not look upon a 
whole. 

The IIuh:meshalle, oe. Hall of Fame. — This is not 
finished. It is of vast size, of stone, with elaborate cornices, 
sculptures, columns, — with everything which can give 
dignity and magnificence to the effect, but not for an instant 
interfere with, or disturb the object of the building. This 
is to receive, and to preserve the statues of persons who 
have distinguished themselves by works which have made 
them worthy of public honor, and sure memory. It stands 
away from the city, on elevated ground, with large vacant 
fields around it. Its situation is excellent, and reminds you 
at once of ancient temples built in lonely places, on high 
ground, having the place of spiritual watch over the neigh- 
bouring state. It is a national work, and the people who 
build it will always enjoy it. An object of interest here, is 
the statue called the " Bavaria." The height of the figure, 
standing upon a pedestal fifty feet high, is fifty-four feet to 
the crown, and sixty-five feet to the wreath of victory. 
Previous to the casting of the head, there were in it at one 
time twenty-eight grown persons and two children. 

You ascend the Statue by a staircase on the inside, and 
through so much space does it pass, that I was fatigued 
before I had half finished the ascent. The day was intense- 
ly hot, and the bronze was heated through. You can judge 
of the heat of the air within. A part of the passage is 



JOUENAL. 389 

dark ; and candles are necessary. Within the head is a 
room in which eight or more persons may be accommodated. 
The eyes serve for windows. We descended after a short 
sojourn. There wsre ladies in the party. The figure has 
by its side a majestic lion. 

One cannot fail to be struck with the number, variety, 
and excellence of the objects of general interest and culture 
in this ancient city. The Gallery is an admirable one. It 
entirely delighted me. On all hands it is held to be one of 
the best in Europe. Architecture has contributed vastly to 
the public interest, and the latest work, the Hall of Fame, 
has the strongest claims to wide regard. I was told that 
this extensive apparatus for pleasure and for culture, has 
revenue connected with, or derived from it, — revenue to 
the public, — the royal treasury. The attractions to strangers 
are very strong in Munich, and from careful statistics, it 
may now be settled what will be the value of any new at- 
traction, to the government revenue. And why not ? A 
state which becomes the patron of its own genius, whatever 
may be its direction, has secured to itself a vast advantage 
in the possession of that which it has itself produced, and 
liberally paid for. Here is tenfold return to the bosom 
which has nurtured it ; and it is ever for national fame and 
good. It brings to itself the stranger from all lands. He 
pays nothing for the privilege of gallery, palace, &c. He is 
showed the whole without the least demand for compensa- 
tion, and he does not see that there is any expectation of 
reward. He pays liberally for his accommodations in the 
foreign capital, but no more than in one which has no at- 
traction at all. Munich has done nobly for art, and who 
does not rejoice in the success of such an enterprise ? Every 
year makes it greater. To me it is a perpetual source of 
pleasure. I only regret that I cannot give to it months, in- 
stead of days. 

I had now devoted much time to sight-seeing. I have 



390 JOURNAL. 

faithfully done my duty, and here closes my account of 
Munich. Indulge me in a few parting words. You know 
how common is this infirmity, of " last words," and that 
sometimes they are our best words. What lady of your 
acquaintance, who has said her parting word in the parlour, 
does not linger on the stairway, — in the hall, — nay, at the 
wide open front door, to say those last words, of which 
you have so often heard me ask the philosophy ? Munich 
is a noble city. How large is the provision for the mind ; 
and the care for the body. The Gast-haus, — the stomach, 
or eating-house, meets you everywhere, and then the Bava- 
rian beer, — the lager, — (called lager because kept on 
stands, or horses, as we call barrel stands,) is in perpetual 
readiness, at all hours, and everywhere. The Bavarian is 
evidently true to himself, to his language, to his literature, 
to his taste, and his stomach. And with all how perfect is 
his health. There is an art, a science, in beer-drinking. 
Not an uncommon vessel is a long glass tube, an inch or more 
in diameter, and a foot or more in length, with a handle at 
lip. It is filled full, and to see a lady, when the train stops, 
on the platform, or at the carriage window, go through the 
manual of drinking, and empty this Alexandrine of glasses, 
is a sight to be seen. The head is first bent a little for- 
ward, until an inch or two of beer is drunk, then slowly 
raised, the glass rising with it, until face and glass are near the 
zenith, and along the neck of the lady are traced the gentle 
undulations of the Bavarian, in its progress from beautiful 
lips to its happy destination. It is an art, I assure you, for 
not a drop is wasted. Let me say here, that the instances 
of lager drinking which attracted my attention, were possi- 
bly exceptional, and so may not indicate or illustrate a na- 
tional custom. And let me farther add, that I have not 
seen an instance of drunkenness in Germany. Munich, 
like other German cities, extends itself far into the neigh- 
bouring country, by means of public gardens for the amuse- 
ment, the pleasure of the people. The roads to them are 



JOURNAL. 391 

crowded in the latter part of tlie day, and in the long twi- 
light, with the carriages of the gentry, and with walkers. 
The labouring classes go on Sundays, after church, the 
Sunday being a Continental holiday, having in it but a 
slight admixture of the Jewish Sabbath, if we except the 
entire abolition of labour. Other classes visit the Gardens 
through the rest of the week. I was made perfectly sen- 
sible of the Garden practice, and popularity, as I was 
approaching Stutgard, where I am writing. The train was 
approaching that place, when a thunder-shower began to 
declare itself. We were close by many gardens, which are, 
when possible, near to stations. And such an inundation 
of humanity into a train, or enclosure, has hardly before 
been seen by me. It was filled in a minute, and crowds 
were left. Nicely dressed ladies, with maid-servants and 
children, formed a part of this human flood. And such an 
out-pouring of the human voice as we had, — of fun, and 
laugh, — can be better imagined than described. I like 
these utterances of a people's heart. No worry, no fret, 
no rudeness, no selfishness, — a spirit of general accommo- 
dation, and most cheerful good nature ! These it was which 
marked this incident of foreign travel, and which I shall 
always recollect with pleasure. The local storm was soon 
over, and a glorious sunset closed the day. 

Stutgard. July 21 . Wednesday. — I reached Stutgard, 
the capital of the kingdom of Wurtemberg, in the evening, 
and no part of my experiences marks a more unpleasant day 
than this in all my wanderings. I mean the portion of it 
passed, or suffered in the diligence. The day was intensely 
hot. Very little air, just enough to raise and keep sus- 
pended the thick dust at the height of the carriage. A 
crowd of Germans, full of talk and laugh, made the discom- 
fort greater. We were so squeezed, that one's neighbours' 
voices came ringing into one's ears after a manner before 
unknown to me. Charles took seats for me and for him- 



392 JOUKXAL. 

self in the same coach, the best in the yard, and a caravan 
was leaving. Seeing a female, before he got in, coming to 
the diligence, and asking for a seat in it, the only other one 
in which she could be accommodated being a very poor one, 
he gave up his, and got into the other. Upon reaching the 
last stage but one of my day's travel, Charles was not to be 
found, — his diligence not having kept pace with mine. My 
luggage was taken into the station of the railway by which 
I was to reach Stutgard, and there, by its side, I waited. 
We had entered a new Empire, at least a new kingdom, and 
my luggage must be weighed and examined before it could be 
permitted to enter the new State. The courier had my keys. 
As it was utterly uncertain when, if ever, he would appear, 
and the train being nearly ready, I left our trunks, &c., Avith 
the conductor of the diligence who was to remain, and the 
name of the hotel to which I was recommended, — the 
Marcquard, — and an order to the courier, that he should 
make a liberal compensation to the very obliging conductor 
who took in charge our luggage, — the courier's being with 
mine. I reached Stutgard in the evening, and found myself 
excellently well accommodated at the hotel. At about ten 
the courier appeared with the luggage. He said one of the 
two horses of his carriage fell dead on the road, being killed 
by the heat, and he w^as detained till a horse was got, or 
caught, and the harness of the dead animal fitted to his 
successor. When I asked of the compensation to the con- 
ductor, he mentioned the merest trifle. I remonstrated. 
" O, Sir," said he, " he was quite satisfied." 

Heidelberg. July 22. Thursday. — Left Stutgard by 
steamer, on the Neckar, for Heidelberg. This was a most 
pleasant exchange for the diligence, in which most of hot 
yesterda}'' was consumed. It rained before our voyage was 
completed, but happy were we to find a bright sun await- 
ing us when we reached Heidelberg, the city of the famed 
Castle. We drove to the Adler, or Eagle, and got good 



JOURiS^AL. 393 

accommodations. The Neckar, like most of the rivers thus 
far on my route, is very shallow, with abundant stones in its 
way, and sometimes a rock or so. But the boats are of 
slight draft, and pass along, scraping, now and then, as they 
go, the bottom, and assuring us if we foundered we should 
hardly sink. The paddles are so arranged as to produce 
most plentiful quantities of spray, and as the water is of a 
tolerably thick mud-gruel consistence, the ladies' nice dresses 
and parasols were abundantly spotted. The other sex had 
some employment in rubbing off the yellow spots when 
they were dry. I went under my pladdie, and in my undis- 
turbed loneliness, d"efied the foul fiend. The mountains on 
the Neckar's sides are sometimes respectable. The rocks 
crop out as they do on the Elbe, and like these, are accu- 
rately stratified. They differ from those of the Elbe, in 
being a red or pink-coloured sandstone, instead of the white 
or yellowish of that region. Men are at work everywhere, 
getting out masses for paving, &c., and for such uses they 
answer perfectly. They are detached in the natural joints, 
and then are trimmed for use. When finished, they are 
brought to the edge of the bank, and along channels, or 
inclined planes, find their own way easily, and without 
damage to the river's side, where are gondolas, with or 
without horses attached, in which they are placed, and car- 
ried where they are needed. So simple is the process, and 
so easily are materials for great variety of use obtained. 
Look at it. The formation of rocks allows of the easiest 
detachment of the needed stones, ready formed. Then 
there is the natural inclined plane, and lastly, the common 
carrier, the river. You everywhere see the result. The 
streets are admirably paved. The process is going on 
directly under my window ; and in every other way these 
stones are used for such things as their structure fits them. 
I saw grindstones of every size lying along the river's side 
for sale. 
W e passed many points of interest on the Neckar. The 



394 JOTJKNAL. 

ruins of old castles are tliere, and in one place I counted 
four large ones, said to have been the stronghold of a noted 
Count of the old time. Some of these ruins have been 
repaired, and are put to good use. The grape is every- 
where, and so are grains, and large forests of firs, where the 
soil allows. Men are rarely seen in the fields, and women 
have just now very little out-door work to do. The 
grass, and much of the early grain are harvested, and the 
later crops are maturing. The Stork is a frequent bird 
here, and you will see him standing erect on one leg, on the 
edge of the neighbouring hill-side, looking like a soldier on 
guard. He is as peaceable, as quiet as Efre his fellow-coun- 
trymen, and gives the interest of life to the wide and wild 
scene. 

My first visit in Heidelberg was to the Castle. It was 
founded about 1300, by the ancestors of the family now on 
the throne of Bavaria. It is of great size. It was an Elec- 
toral palace, and in rooms which are in good condition are 
preserved much of what constituted its state in earlier days, 
— portraits, paintings, furniture, medals, coins, armour, &c., 
&c., which are of historical interest. The grounds are 
wooded, with walks. The restoration is not forgotten ; but 
the thirsty traveller may drink water at first hands, as it 
comes gushing out from living springs ; or at its many 
removes from these, in the shape of beer. For those who 
demand stronger waters, Cogniac is almost as universal here 
as is the German tongue. The Castle has been destroyed by 
man and by lightning, — battered down, and blown up, and 
rebuilt, — and deserted, and wasted ; so that one says, " Peace 
was more injurious to it than war ! " It was not origin- 
ally built on its present site. But there it is, on a mountain 
overlooking the Neckar and the city, and is a magnificent 
spectacle from whatever point viewed. I went up to it first 
from the city, and afterwards had fine views of it from 
across the Neckar. The ascent is steep, and donkeys are at 
hand for the lazy, or the infirm. You pass through the 



JOURNAL. 395 

great gateway, and soon are in front of tlie Castle. This 
facade is said to be the work of M. Angelo, and resembles 
most the Venetian architecture. It reminded me strongly 
of the fronts of Canaletto. I entered the Castle, and went 
patiently through the discipline of seeing the treasured 
relics of ages long gone by. There is a fragment of a 
tower which was blown off by powder, and which, as show- 
ing what human power can do to produce material strength, 
is worthy a visit. I did not measure its thickness, nor do I 
remember what it was said to be. It was certainly several 
feet. It was rent off whole. Its enormous weight did 
nothing to break it in its terrible fall. It looks like a piece 
of a fractured mountain. The vines, and trees, and shrub- 
beries, are around it, growing out of its soil, and will soon 
make its living grave. Do not call me sentimental, or 
smile at my rhetoric. But there are things of man which 
move me still, and not the less that they have not been able 
to conquer nature, but have often needed the " live thun- 
der " for their solemn ruin. I went to all the show places, 
but will not weary you with them. I did not go into the 
Great Tun of Heidellerg. Its outside was more than 
enough. 

I crossed the Neckar the next day by the heavy, fine stone 
bridge, and called on an old resident friend. From his 
window I had a view opposite to that described, and a grand 
view is it. I think it is the best one. 

The same day, Thursday, July 22, 1 went to the University 
with my friend, and heard a lecture on Roman Law, by 
Mettemeyer. This professor is an admirable lecturer, 
I think altogether the most accomplished teacher I have ever 
listened to. His enunciation is so clear that you hear each 
syllable of each word, and so perfectly was this done that 
you became acquainted with his subject, though you knew 
nothing of German. He quoted largely from the most 
noted authorities, ihe great masters of the Roman Law, 
codes, pandects, twelve tables, &c. His quotations were in 



396 JOURNAL. 

Latin, the language of those masters, and were most dis- 
tinctly given, so that a tolerable knowledge of the language 
gave 3^ou a good notion of his subject, and how he was 
treating it. There was a care, a precision in giving his 
references, which was excellent. Thus, volume, chapter, 
section, page, and paragraph were given, and for the most 
part repeated, as was the quotation itself. You saw that 
this eloquent professor understands the whole nature of his 
office, and is alive to the important duties it demands. He 
is eloquent. He had the eloquence of manner, on a dull sub- 
ject, — the law of descent, and the transmission of property, 
testaments, &c., civil and military. His power is in earn- 
estness, without noise and impertinent jesticulation ; and 
in. freedom and fulness of enunciation, without the least 
hurry. His voice is excellent, clear and musical in into- 
nation, and sometimes lofty, but with that general evenness 
which is the best manner of a public teacher. You saw the 
effect of all this. The class felt him, and with avidity 
received his important teachings. Silence is profound, per- 
fect, in his lecture room. If you shut your eyes, you would 
suppose that you were the only auditor there. The room is 
admirably arranged for the class. It has benches, each 
holding six or eight, — in rows, and stationary. A simple 
desk runs the length of the benches in front, of size for ink- 
stand, note-book ; and below, ample place for legs, cap, or 
hat. Here are real comforts, luxuries for the student. His 
is a wearisome life, and never before, — and I have studied 
both in England, and in Scotland, as well as in the Republic, 
— have I found such welcome arrangements for such a life, — 
six lectures often a day, and with nothing to save them from 
being the heaviest hours of life. I was entirely pleased 
with all I saw and heard in this celebrated University. The 
lecture was an hoiir long, and as soon as it was over the 
Professor went into another room to meet another class in a 
different department of his prselections. I was surprised to 
see so many young men in the class room of such a professor, 



JOURNAL. 397 

his subject, Civil Law, being not merely matter of history, 
but embracing great principles in their depths, and making 
the strongest demands upon the minds of a class. The 
German face and expression, in such examples, are remark- 
ably fresh, and probably gave me the impression of a youth, 
Avhich was not entirely the fact. The courses are long, — 
two courses in each year, — of half a year each, so that ' 
a young man at matriculation, has a chance to look older 
before he graduates. Degrees are given not after passing 
so many years in the University, but after such examinations, 
and which are very severe, as will satisfy the faculty of the 
candidate's qualifications for his calling. The classes were 
made up of students from many countries, — Greece, 
Swabia, America, &c., &c. I sat in Prof. Mettemeyer's 
lecture room with American students. After the lecture 
was over, I was introduced to some of these in Graimberg's 

book and stationery shop. Among others, Mr. , of 

Charleston, South Carolina, the grandson of the distinguished 
author of a portion of American Revolutionary History ; 
and I learned afterwards that this young gentleman was the 
most distinguished member of his recently graduated class. 
I found him to be a very pleasing, agreeable man, and am 
happy to have made the acquaintance of one who has done 
so much honour to himself and to his country. I asked 
what was the compensation of a professor, and of his ser- 
vice. He gives two courses a year, and the fee for a course 
is eight dollars. The class, when full, is seven hundred. 
The lecture room, I thought, might accommodate some 
hundreds, the whole class rarely attending the same course 
at the same time. Prof. Mettemeyer, I was told, had two 
thousand five hundred dollars a year from government. The 
German dollar is less than ours. 

Duels. — The mode of settling disputes in some of the 

German Universities is, I believe, peculiar to them. It is 

by the duel. There are certain individuals, I was told, 

whose special business is to do the fighting. Thus, in one 

34 



398 JOURI^AL. 

University there are five fighting corps, numbering together 
between one or two hundred. They may be known by the 
colour of their caj)s. Those referred to wear white. In 
fighting, a costume is worn. Its object is to prevent dan- 
gerous wounds. The whole trunk and the lower limbs in 
part, are covered with a thick, padded garment of great 
strength, and so is the right arm, the left being carried 
behind,. Over the eyes is a visor coming well down. The 
sword, or rapier, or rather striker, — a schlager, from the 
German verb schlager, to strike, — for some inches from its 
point is of extreme sharpness. The rest of the blade is 
blunt. A surgeon is at hand during fighting. I got an 
invitation to witness a combat, but no parties appeared. 
The fighting room is a large hall in a public house. The 
floor is marked in two spots by letters, about eight feet 
apart, I should think. The fighters stand on these and 
approach each other till they have reached the middle of the 
space between the letters. Here they stop, and begin the 
battle. They aim only at the face. This is the only point 
for attack. The battle lasts about twenty minutes, a certain 
number of rounds being accomplished in that time. Some- 
times, if not always, after the rounds are fought, though no 
blood be drawn, the fight is over. Blood being drawn 
earlier, may settle the contest. It was said that disputes 
led to the duel. If there be no special cause for fighting, a 
member of one corps may challenge one of another, and this 
is good cause for a fight. You thus see that however fomii- 
dable the afiair may appear, it may resolve into a trial of 
skill. At times, indeed, severe wounds are made. A part 
of the nose has been cut ofi". Sometimes a corner of the 
mouth may be cut through, and the wound extend through 
the cheek. I met with a young man this very day, and was 
with him some time, and I have no doubt he had been a 
fighter. He had the scar of a clean cut extending from near 
the right angle of the mouth, almost to the temple, passing 
obliquely across the cheek. Some have many scars. A 



JOUHNAL. 399 

number of duels may be fought in a day, — time, from 
8, A. M., to 11. As we approached the scene of battle, I 
was told that there would not be any duels that day. I 
asked why not, and the reason was given. I heard it asked 
in a company at the table of the hotel, and when these duels 
were under discussion, — I heard it asked why they were 
allowed, — if not directly, at least so far as their not being 
suppressed, implied permission. The answer was somewhat 
remarkable. In all classes, it was said, are young men who 
do not study. These have been always most forward in 
public disturbances. The duel gives them occupation, and 
so aids to keep them in political order. This explanation 
was given. If we bear in mind how young many of these 
students are, — how far, it may be, they are from home, and 
rational means of excitement, — the national temperament, 
— and especially the daily and hourly presence of the mili- 
tary, we may reach many causes conspiring to produce the 
custom. Said one to me : "Do you know Heidelberg is in 
a state of siege?" No, said I. "It is so. The courts 
are shut, and martial law exists." But, said I, I see no 
military. " No," was the reply. " But, nevertheless, we 
have troops here from Austria to keep us in order, and the 
good city has to pay for the defence." This University 
fighting is a singular fact in the educational system of a 
state ; and we can easily understand what its influences 
may be. It is a singular mode to suppress a spirit of insu- 
bordination ; for it fosters the spirit itself ; and after a man- 
ner to produce the very evils it would prevent. It diminishes 
the value of life by the practice of that which, in its wider 
operations, tends directly to its destruction. It accustoms 
men to swords and to blood. It begins its teachings early, 
and before the better and higher have been much developed, 
or much used. It may come to affect character deeply. All 
this, you say, may be true, and much of the same tenor ; 
but that there is a foregone conclusion to fight, cause or 
no cause. No one enters a corps who does not suppose 



400 JOTJUXAL. 

himself equal, and prepared, and ready for what he may be 
called upon to do, and fight he must, and will. 

You ask why I went to witness what I consider so dis- 
graceful, or so demoralizing? I came abroad to observe in 
various peoples, hovf character, condition, conduct, and man- 
ners, might be affected by conventional and other institu- 
tions. I had seen the results of |)articular systems at home. 
I had left home to observe the working of others abroad. I 
went to these duels, not to see what is so absurdly contrived 
as to make it ridiculous, — risk without danger, — or to 
witness any duel at all, in and for itself, — for I have always 
regarded duelling as an outrage against good morals, and 
an insult to true courage. I went to see the embodiment of 
opinion in one of its phases, — to witness what government 
is said to tolerate. I was not disappointed that I did not 
see the duels, — which were to have come off. I had been 
to the scene of such conflicts, and had such assurance of 
their reality as the questionless arrangements for them 
afforded. 

Table d'Hote. — Much of the foregoing account of the 
University duel was got at the table d'hote one day. 
Among the company was an English party on their way to a 
watering place for the summer. The man of the party was of 
address, and dress. He talked for the whole table, and was 
entertaining. I took him for a Cambridge, or Oxford man, 
— a Fellow, — a nobleman's younger son, — perhaps in 
orders, for he wore &ivJiite neckcloth. But no matter whom, 
which, or what ; he described the duel very well. The un- 
known, — not the great, — talked of all sorts of things, 
among others, he talked of Americans, — of their manners, 
and especially of their speech, — their pronunciation. 
"There are certain words," said he, "which always declare 
the American. There is one word which is a perfect Shib- 
boleth, with or for that people. It is the word very. An 
American cannot pronounce very as we do. He always pro- 
nounces it ?;ar2/, — vary well, — &;c. This is universal. It 
never fails to distinguish him from an Englishman." 



JOURNAL. 401 

This English talk amused me exceedingly, as it did others 
of our countrymen at table. I had often noticed the English 
pronunciation of this word very, and it certainly differs 
from ours. It is very rapidly uttered, as are most words, 
and for emphasis is always repeated "very, very," and even 
a third time. No remark was made on this pronunciation 
episode. It was on my lips to say, " Heidelberg is a very, 
very nice place," 7iice being the commonest English eulogistic 
epithet of character, whether of person or place, and I would 
have uttered the word with a rapidity and emphasis, too, 
which would have been English to the top of any English- 
man's bent. It is rare, I think, to meet with an Anglo- 
Saxon quite so communicative as was our dinner companion ; 
and certainly there was nothing offensive either in his 
manner or word. I could not but think if one or two New 
Yorkers, who said they were such, had kept dark, we might 
not have heard so much from our very agreeable English 
head, — for he took that part of the table. But how much we 
should have lost of really pleasant talk. I have met abroad 
with Americans at table, and from New York too, and they 
seemed to take special pains to declare their country ? " And 
why not," I see no reason in the world. In regard to pro- 
nunciation, we must confess to some peculiarities. We 
certainly do not pronounce this word very as does an English- 
man, nor do we give the letter o the sound he does. Hear 
him say morning. It differs entirely from our pronunciation 
of it. The with the English sometimes gets a sound like 
u, with us. Thus, a most justly celebrated English reader. 

Miss , said in her magnificent reading of Macbeth : — 

" and take a bund of fate," 



for bond, as we pronounce it. In the word more, which we 
pronounce with a very round, and positive o, the English- 
man will give it the er sound. I could fill more than a page 
with similar notices of the national in the pronunciation of 
the two nations, — England and America. An American 
cannot speak as does an Englishman, that is, like one of the 
34* 



402 JOURNAL. 

best marked specimens of that race. It is not only, or chiefly, 
rapidity . which makes the difference. It is found in the 
variety and distinctness of the modifications of sounds, 
though rapidly rendered, which give character to speech, 
and which to me are very agreeable. All this is found in 
the English speech or pronunciation, and is that which gives 
to it a perfectness, a finish which is thought by some to be 
the luxury as v>rell as the distinction of uttered language. 

Fkankfukt on the Maine. July 25th. — The drive 
from Heidelberg to Frankfurt on the Maine, was short and 
beautiful. Frankfurt is a large and handsome city. It 
is famed for its interest in the Fine Arts ; and the col- 
lections of Bethmann are truly grand. Its bankers are 
of name. The high priests of the order, the Rothschilds, 
were born here. It is Goethe's birth place. I went to the 
shop of Rohllers, four doors from the Hotel de Ptussie, 
to execute a commission for a friend, — viz. to buy a 
group of figures in bronze, — the Story of Erigone, and 
an exquisite work of art is it. I asked the price. "Twenty- 
five pounds," said the salesman, or owner. No less, 
asked I. "No," said he. "It cost me thirty pounds." 
An English gentleman, with whom I had become acquainted, 
and who went with me to Rohllers, spoke to this statement 
at once. " That is just what our shopkeepers do in England. 
They always pay more for what they buy, than what they 
ask for it." The shopkeeper replied with some emphasis 
to the construction put upon the offered price as com- 
pared with what he paid for it. I again asked if twenty- 
five pounds was his lowest price. He said " Yes," and we 
left, having first bought for you a paper-folder, beautifully 
ornamented v\^ith stag-horn sculpture. This shop is famed 
for its exquisite articles made of stag horns. They are 
beautiful in design, grace, finish. They are of great cost. 
I got a very slight article as a specimen. A specimen of 
the manner in which these things are done. I am aware 



JOIIIINAL. 403 

that a Irick will hardly show the house. You must come 
to Frankfurt if you would see perfection in this art. 

One of the attractions of Frankfurt is Danniker's 
Ariadne. This is showed in a building erected solely for it 
in the spacious grounds of its opulent, and noble spirited 
owner. It is in the midst of groves, and shrubberies, and 
flowers, giving and taking beauty from the exquisite nature 
around it. It is open daily, and may be visited by every- 
body, and without fee. Now is not this a munificence to be 
honoured and loved ? When has wealth such attraction, — 
its possession more honour, than Avhen it shows itself in 
wise and beautiful expression, — ministering to the mind 
and the heart, making stranger and friend, and poor and 
rich, alike participators in the best it can do ? The English 
nobleman hangs out his banner, and opens his gate to the 
people one day in the week, and everybody may wander 
through his grounds, and have in the sight of so much 
beauty and grandeur, what has in it power to do so much 
and so varied good. 

Ariadne, in this work of Danniker, is seated on a panther, 
— as the wife of Bacchus, in a position of exquisite grace, 
ease, beauty, with her head raised, and an expression of no 
little exultation, that her apotheosis has already begun, — 
that sh3 is already among the gods. The marble has the 
efl'ect it always produces, — that of a living surface. The 
light upon it is absorbed, and becomes incorporated with 
the marble ; and to heighten the effect, a red shade is over 
the window through which the light reaches Ariadne. 
When I saw this work, the sun was just in such a position 
as to pour his most powerful rays upon it through the red 
curtain. As marble does not reflect light, the character of 
the surface produced is stationary while the light is upon it, 
so that the curtain has no other efl'ect upon the figure than 
to render the atmosjjliere through which it is seen warmer 
than it otherwise would be. I wish you could see this work 
of art, which has given me so much pleasure. There are 



404 JOURNAL. 

excellent casts of celebrated statuary here, — especially of 
the antique. But marble only tells the story of art, and 
though the plaster be never so accurate in giving form, — 
figure, — face, — it cannot for a moment deceive you into 
the idea that you are looking at the original, or that which 
can assure you what that original is. It is very much like 
copying pictures, — this plaster cast business. It is always 
a failure. 

I wandered about Frankfurt, and saw most of its grandeur 
and beauty. Strolling out at one p. m., a colossal statue in 
bronze of Goethe was encountered, the antique with, but not 
in the modern, and the whole very little to my taste. I did 
not care that I did not like it more. Goethe himself as a 
man, is of very little interest with me. Some of my notions 
of him were gathered many years ago from a German friend, 
whose character was a guarantee of the truth of what he said, 
and who was near enough to the time of the illustrious poet 
to learn much of his private history. In the overgrowth of 
the intellectual, the moral, according to my friend, had not 
an exalted place. His anecdotes related principally to 
Goethe's personal life. He represented him as the slave 
of the court, — as never having returned to his father's 
house after his inauguration there, — that with a singular 
inconsistency, he would refuse to answer small pecuniary 
demands, while he was in the large way munificent. His 
estimate of women, as showed by his personal relations and 
conduct towards them, were stated as by no means favourable 
to him as a man, or a moralist. A book purporting to be a 
life of Goethe, ajDpeared not long ago, in which is given an 
account of the manner in which he received the person, — a 
travelling tutor of his son's, — when he came to report to him 
the circumstances attending that son's death. He tells us 
he shrunk from the office which his duty imposed ujDon him. 
He had witnessed the death of an only son, and this last fact 
in his melancholy mission, heightened his reluctance to per- 
form it. Goethe received him as an ordinary, every-day 



JOUKNAL. 405 

vi?itor, — as having nothing special in his call, and an inter- 
ruption rather than a pleasure. There was in his manner 
nothing of that dignity which a suppressed grief always 
imparts, — or of the composure of a reconciled sorrow. His 
manner had in it no dignity at all. It was trifling. He 
approaches the messenger with a flower in his hand, and asks 
him to look at it. However you may explain all this, it is 
to me, if true, as certain evidence of the surrender of the 
moral to the intellectual, as history records. His fame, and 
that which made it, are the grave of feeling. He has sur- 
vived the affections, and his only son's death is of less 
moment than some silly flower. Whether the cause of this 
spiritual condition were philosophy, or insensibility, I will 
not argue. The fact is enough, and explains other points in 
Goethe's moral history with which I will not make longer 
this record, which came directly to me from a countryman of 
the great poet. " Nil de mortuis, nisi,'' I hear you say. 
Yes, I have heard it before. But Goethe is not dead. He 
will never die. His works have given him the philosopher's, 
the scholar's, and the poet's life, and fame. What investi- 
ture of immortality more sure ? He is remembered by me 
by a work which, in my boyish days, I read a thousand times, 
— the Sorrows of Werter. And in what Avork have the 
depths of man's emotional nature been so sounded, as in 
that short story. For one, I shall never forget it. Why 
speak of the infirmities of such a man ? Because they were 
nearer to the highest intellectual nature than in any other 
instance in my recollection. Human nature, true human 
nature, can always afford to have its whole story told, if 
there be any reason for telling it at all. And who can ques- 
tion the honesty of Goethe ? I cannot tell you with what 
distinctness the above anecdotes of Goethe came to my 
memory as I stood in the calm summer evening in Frankfurt 
before his statue ; and they are recorded just as quick as 
memory brought them back to me. Four years after writing 
the above, 1 have just finished reading Lewes' Life of Goethe. 



406 JOURNAL. 

From every one who lias read it, I have heard the highest 
admiration expressed of this excellent work. It reaches to 
the whole life of Goethe, beginning at its beginning, and 
never losing sight of him till the grave covers him. It is a 
defence of Goethe, and it was not easy to avoid giving it 
that character ; and yet to my mind, it is not the best text 
for such a work. It is, however, much occupied with the 
scientific and literary character of its subject, and brings to 
the examination of each, the skill, and power, of true criti- 
cism. The claim to priority of discovery in its spirit and 
results, has been in the manner in which it has been urged, 
among the opprobria of both science and letters. Look, as 
a single instance, to the quarrel between Newton and 
Leibnitz, and if you can find anything sadder, in its kind, 
let me know where it is. It embittered the life of Leibnitz ; 
and its melancholy power closed only at his grave. This 
work of Lewes aims to place the claims of Goethe where 
they justly deserve to be, and as it seems to me, the evidence 
is conclusively in his favour. In regard to the moral phase 
of this great man's life, it is stated at great length, with 
such explanations as such a history authorizes. Explanation 
here, is defence. Why have I not left what I had written 
away off" in Frankfurt, touching Goethe, out of this volume ; 
especially after reading Lewes' work ? The answer to such 
questions, for the most part, does little to settle them ; and 
I am quite willing to leave the latest where it is. 

CoBLENTZ. Monday 26. — Left Frankfurt, and reached 
Mayence, not far from noon, on my way on the Rhine. 
The day was just one of those of all others best fitted for 
an excursion on such a river. 

Here am I in the Hotel de Bellevue, looking out on the 
Ehrenbreitstein, — the Broad Stone of Honour, — the Gib- 
raltar of Prussia, and the second or third in strpngth on the 
Continent. The river is just in front, and below me. A 
common street only separating me from it. I look up, 



JOURNAL. 407 

down, and across, and everywhere are the treasures of the 
Rhine. I would have gone farther, but I have much to do 
to accomplish my object in travel. I have been all day 
upon the river, every hour revelling in some new beauty, — 
some new scene for pleasure and for memory. Directly on 
a line with my window, is a bridge of boats across the 
river. The steamer comes along, — the chain of boats is 
broken, — one or more being turned aside, — the craft 
rushes through, and in a moment the bridge is again. But 
the Rhine ? I have been days on the Elbe, the Danube, 
the Neckar. This mighty stream takes rank with the best. 
It is so wide, so full, so generous, so rapid. It sweeps along 
from its Alj)ine home, and makes its way in giant strides 
among the mountains, as if they were its old friends, which 
it will never desert. You can hardly imagine its beauty, 
its power. It never is with you a moment the same, or for 
more than a moment. You look before you, and you have 
sea room and to spare. Look again, and the mountains 
have kissed each other. You can go no farther. They part 
before you in a moment, and away you fly by them. The 
Danube is repeated. The Rhine is the highway of great 
states, and takes tribute from many monarchs. They have 
made new palaces out of old castles. The King of Prus- 
sia entertains Victoria in his castle palace, on the Rhine. 
And there lives the Prince of Prussia, in that restored ruin, 
as if it were the work of the last half year. Farther on 
the same is done, and in everything you see that the hard 
spirit of the old time has relented, and is happy to express 
itself in the tone and manner of the indwelling beautiful. 
I passed another instance of the same. The old castle was 
again inhabited. The windows were curtained, and opened. 
The vine was all round it, marking the narrow footpath to 
the open door. And there were flower-pots there, and 
nice shrubs. It was human life again before me, and I was 
glad to see such a life replacing the dark reign of that bar- 
barism which has passed away. I saw a fine specimen of 



408 JOURNAL. 

old castle architecture, ^vith scafFoldings against its sides, 
and around its old towers, which showed the present was 
taking the place of the past. One might be willing to lose 
the picturesque, that the old and the new might join hands, 
and show that wherever man is, there is the human heart 
too ; and that the greatest anachronisms are often the 
truest harmonies. 

The Rhine is the calmest or smoothest river I think I 
have known. I have been on it in a strong wind, but it 
was perfectly smooth, often like glass. I think this quiet- 
ness may be the result of the situation of the hills and 
mountains which make its borders, or banks. They often 
are very near to it, and for the most part there is hardly 
enough for a road between their bases and the stream. 
The fact of its perpetual fulness distinguishes it from the 
Elbe, the Danube, the Neckar. These, as I have seen 
them, are affected by drought. The Rhine is full. The 
Danube is a noble stream, as rapid as the Rhine ; but you 
saw that a heavy rain would help it amazingly. The Rhine 
is not a clear river. It rushes from a mountain, and bears 
a part of its parent in its bosom. It has tributaries from 
other rivers, high or low, and these disturb it. The Moselle 
enters the Rhine in or near Coblentz, and the difference 
between them is marked. From the top of Ehrenbreitstein, 
you see the Moselle entering the Rhine, with its blue water. 
But the Rhine has not, for a time, the least effect upon it. 
No. The line between the two rivers is drawn so strongly, 
that you can hardly suppose that they will unite to form 
one. 

On a very high point is an old castle, which has a sin- 
gular use. It is a State Prison. A few years since a 
brother of Metternich was said to have been confined in it. 
As we approached it, an out-work, defended by six cannon, 
was seen. It seemed to me if the noble guest were at all 
contemplative, and could look from that far height upon all 
the beauty in such near proximity, he might have found a 



JoiriiNAL. 409 

prison life as happy as the free. The thought came that he 
might have been quite as happy as was his statesman bro- 
ther. Speaking of the Austrian Minister, let me say a 
word about his estates on the Rhine. One of the most 
remarkable of these is Johannesburg. It is on a hill in 
the Rheingau, formerly belonging to the bishop of Fulda, 
under the direction of the Electors of Mentz. The Em- 
peror of x\ustria gave it to Prince Metternich, on condition 
of receiving a tenth part of the produce. Prince Metter- 
nich once said that he had received twenty or thirty, or 
more, ambassadors from one of the largest states on the 
Continent, leading the hearer to infer how long he must 
have held office in the fullest confidence of his monarch. 
Johannesburg lies along the side of the river, rising very 
gradually to a moderate elevation above the land in its 
neighbourhood. It is in shape a segment of a very large 
circle, just such an arrangement as to bring the most points 
under the best influences of the sun, the air, the rain. 
It does not appear large. It lies basking in the sun, 
getting protection from cold winds, from neighbouring 
mountains. You see in such a situation how everything 
conspires to bring the grape forward early, — to develope 
all its wine-making properties, — ripen it for the harvest. 
Nothing is so important in this business of wine-making, as 
the perfect maturity of the grape. Sometimes this is not 
accomplished, and unripe fruit is used. This prevents those 
processes on which the best wine depends. To secure fer- 
mentation, and give sweetness, as to Champagne, in bad 
harvests, sugar must be added. In such wine the true 
flavour, the charm is wanting, and a skilful taster detects 
the want at once. Johannesburg is just so situated as to 
insure the most perfect vintage. Some fruit may be better 
than is other, and hence some variety in the quality of the 
wine. What mere soil and place may do to aff'ect the 
product, is at once seen by recurring to the Danube. 
The rough character of the wine may be gathered at 
35 



410 JOURNAL. 

once from the situation of the mountains, or hills, their 
elevation, and other circumstances which may diminish the 
local power of the sun, and waste the soil. It is in this 
connection a fact worthy of notice, that the wine of the very 
next, the adjoining estate, the Geisenheimer, does not begin 
to compare with that of Johannesburg. There lays this 
last, offering its broad acres to the warm sky, making its 
preparation for the vintage, which will be sure to offer to 
such as will pay for it, its delicious wine. 

I have spoken of the surface, exposure, &c., &c., of the 
Johannesburg estate, in their connection with the quantity 
and character of the Avine. This reminds me of what much 
interested me elsewhere on the Rhine. I mean the extreme 
care taken to use every inch of land for culture, on the 
sides of mountains, however precipitous ; nay, more, to 
make land where is none, and so to protect it, that it shall 
not, with its crop, be washed away. The comparative slight 
elevation of Johannesburg, — its easy slopes, its continuous 
unbroken surface, I thought, placed it in circumstances 
resembling the lower levels of other terraced mountain vine- 
yards, and this might give character to its wine. 

Next to the Geisenheimer estate comes another, and I 
believe much esteemed for its wine, — the Rudisheimer ; 
and my last acquaintance with the Rhine wine-land, was 
that which borders directly on the Moselle, a beautiful 
river, to whose blue water I have before alluded. Many 
remains of the Roman rule are in the neighbourhood of the 
Moselle, which will well reward the industry of the travel- 
ler in his search, who has time and taste for hunting after 
them. I must add that besides vineyards, grains and grasses 
are everywhere more or less cultivated, in the region of 
which I have been speaking. 

Eheenbkeitsteijt. July 27. — A light rain in the 
night was followed by one of the pleasant days which have 
almost every day welcomed me, — my morning blessing. 



JOUKNAL. 411 

It was hot, but, as you know, your true traveller, and true 
man, are both above complaint. If we sweated, we bore it. 
We were for Ehrenbreitstein. Breakfast was for seven, 
and at eight we were on our way. We crossed the bridge of 
boats, and were soon at the foot of the mountain, on the 
top of which is the fortress. The Broad Stone of Honour 
is a mural rock, rising almost eight hundred feet above the 
Rhine. The ascent is less fatiguing than you might sup- 
pose, as the road is of inclined, winding planes, which take 
you along with no very distinct consciousness that you are 
so rapidly ascending. When coming down, however, I did 
feel somewhat of comfort, as I looked upon later pilgrims 
to the land above. They came along, hat in hand, occa- 
sioning the courier to say, " The Broad Stone of Honour 
makes them take off the hat who come to see him." I 
recollected that we had paid him so much of reverence. 
Never do I remember such liberality of perspiration, as 
accompanied me in this ascent, I hardly think the proud 
rock would have put in any claim for this portion of the 
tribute. I was, however, not conscious of fatigue. 

Ehrenbreitstein is of great strength. It mounts seven 
hundred cannon of the largest calibre. It is pierced every 
where for musketry, where musketry can be used. It is 
always provisioned for seven years, and its supply of water 
is inexhaustible. One source is the Rhine, another a well 
in the fortress itself. I stood upon the highest point of this 
vast rock, picked flowers there, and collected hard speci- 
mens of the stones of which it is composed. A great deal 
of the rock is bare, — is compact, and of a dark brown 
colour, — its whole structure impressing you with the feel- 
ing of its strength. 

Our guide, an old soldier, took pride in his office. The 
fortress was clearly a pet. He took us to all points of inter- 
est. Among these ^vas " Victohia's Seat," so called, where 
her Majesty of England rested herself in a visit here last 
year, as the guest of the King of Prussia. Everybody 



412 JOURNAL. 

must sit, wliere did the Queen. I told him of America, my 
fatherland, and how long had been my journey to Coblentz. 
This particularly pleased the old soldier, and he was more 
zealous than before to please us. What especially attracted 
notice was the prospect, as you stand on the top stone of 
Ehrenbreitstein. In the first place, the extent of the view. 
You look up and down the Rhine for miles. Coblentz is seen 
in every part of it, a bird's-eye view. The great fortresses 
of Alexander and Constantino, named in honour of the 
Russian Princes of those names, are situated to the east, and 
ready in their strength to co-operate at an}^ moment with 
their time-honoured neighbour. Then the Moselle, winding 
its slow length along to the Rhine, soon to lose itself in that 
rapid stream. You see, and I am sure with deep interest, the 
cultivation far below this, the fortress side of the river. The 
ground is level there, and adapted to a variety of culture, 
and with sufficient extent for each particular growth to show 
itself to the best advantage. 

The utmost care is taken to combine symmetry with 
economy. Thus, in one place is a large crescent, and 
bounded by a deep green shrubbery. From, and to this, as a 
centre, strips of difierent widths pass, on which are various 
grains for instance, each showing its distinctive colours, and 
thus producing a carpet-like arrangement too wide and deep 
to be stiff, and entirely beautiful. It is artificial, and such 
is cultivation over the whole Continent. The variety saves 
repetition from at all offending you, or from diminishing the 
beauty. Everywhere around you is this exquisite care and 
taste displayed to produce agreeable eff'ects ; and I think 
nobody would look over this wide field of beauty and of 
good, without feeling that he owed a debt to the Rhine, the 
extent of which he might not have felt but for his pilgrimage 
to Ehrenbreitstein. 

Let me speak of the structure of the fortress. The rock 
does not end above in an uninterrupted level outline. No. 
It rises very irregularly, with projections upward, pinnacled, 



JOURNAI,. 413 

with spaces between. Well, in building the fort, the outline 
has not been altered so as to produce a horizontal surface 
upon which to erect the walls of the fortress, but the spaces 
are huilt into and above the pinnacles, or projections when 
necessary, so that, with an originally very irregular outline, 
the surface line is perfectly uniform, or horizontal. The effect 
of this is excellent, and you feel sure of the strength of 
works which have had such principles in their construction. 
Look at the splendid bronze statue of Peter Veliki, Peter the 
Great, in the Admiralty, in St. Petersburg, and see how the 
rock is hurt, in its effect, by the paring down of roughnesses, 
and smoothing the edges of fractures to give to it grace. 
Its chiefest grace was its strength, — for this only could be 
in harmony with that which it suj^ports. The rock upon the 
Khine remains as it was, and so does that upon the Elbe, 
upon which is the Koenigstein. Man's work in these, respects 
those of nature, and has not dreamed of making them better. 
One is sad that a spot sacred to the worship of nature, — 
yes, consecrated by its infinite beauty to the loftiest offices, 
should have been brought into the service of war. But the 
times promise it a long peace, — an unbroken rest. It may 
be in another and better age, when a truer civilization has 
been reached, the wild flower, and vine, and grass, will groAv 
over, and cover up these works of man, and the Broad 
Stone of Honour recover from the desolation of ages, as 
has the Rhine Palace of the King of Prussia ; and in the 
ministries of hospitality, regal, and neighbourly, show that 
the age of war is gone, and the gentle rule of peace has 
succeeded. 

Left Coblentz in the Prinzessen von Prussen, — the 
Prussian Princess, — on my return voyage upon the Rhine. 
The day was fine. I was now occupied in seeing the same 
things seen before, but in a reversed order. The voyage was 
exceedingly pleasant. Whether it was that I had learned 
something of the scenery, that it so much delighted me, or 
not, I cannot say, but am sure that the new aspects of old 
35* 



414 JOURNAL. 

scenes were very pleasing. Th.e simple change in the direc- 
tion of the sun's rays, brought with it new surfaces, — new 
mountain outlines, — may I not say new mountains ? I 
knew indeed every important point I had seen before ; but 
the knowledge was power, and increased the interest of 
what I saw a second time, or to-day. 

Manheim. — About twelve, midnight, by the light of a 
brilliant moon, I landed near the Hotel de T Europe in 
Manlieim. I shall not forget the effects produced by moon 
light upon the scenery of this night voyage. The Duchy is 
in a state of siege, martial law having replaced the civil. 
"Why this is so, I, of course, know not, and I certainly never 
should have dreamed of such a thing ; the besieged being 
and acting very much like other folk. The soldiers were 
about everywhere of cou.rse, for on the Continent where you 
see a man you almost invariably see a soldier. 1 saw a review 
on the parade. The siege may be for the benefit of the 
otherwise unused military. Manheim is a neat, quiet, com- 
fortable place. The people seemed well off, and apparently 
lived upon little labour, but in what this consisted I could 
not see. One can understand how people get along in the 
country. There is labour, and this produces something to ob- 
server, as well as to emplo3^er and employed. The population 
is small to the surface, and so want of employment may be 
rare. But in these cities, so compact, so small, so crowded 
and covered with men and their habitations, with apparently 
so little employment, it always seems to me as if there 
must be some difficulty in settling the question of supply 
and demand. The unused army may be a convenience, as 
more opportunity for employment may be secured to the 
people, and the government pays the army. But the people 
pay the government. Whence the revenue ? I go to the 
market in these cities. It is well supplied. The country 
does its part, and liberally, in meats, vegetables, fruits. 
The sea, or river, furnishes fish. You see it comes from 



JOURNAL. 415 

labour at a distance, tliis market abundance. It is all bought 
up early, carried home, so that by two, p. m., the square or 
market is perfectly clean, as if all sorts of things had not 
covered it a moment before. The masses then do get work, 

— eat and drink, — go to the beer houses, — to the theatre, 

— enjoy themselves as do others, — do not die of starva- 
tion. The hardest service of the people here is to support 
mere idlers, soldiers, and government, — neither of which 
orders support themselves, — to pay these, and provide 
for itself, its nameless real wants, and its rarer luxuries. 
It seems as if labour can hardly reserve enough from its 
toil to make new strength for new toil. Look where you 
may, the same story comes in endless repetition. The masses 
must work, and trust their recompense to circumstances, 
which they cannot controul. I say masses. Every worker 
does the same whose whole capital is in his mind or hands, 
or both. The highest of the professions and the lowest occu- 
pations, have alike their sustenance in or out of what they 
do, — not as do others, — capitalists, — whose interest rolls 
up, or rolls in, without their stir. Such men rarely loork. 
They hardly understand the meaning of the word. A 
Daniel Webster may strain his great intellect almost to* 
bursting, — may work as such idlers cannot dream of ; and 
may be paid w^ith money, the making of which has not cost 
his employer two thoughts. I say may, for is not the pay of all 
professional men, — the physician with the rest, — somewhat 
contingent? The professional man has worked with body 
and mind, — night and day, — in cold and heat, — and 
when the year is ended, if his employer have saved enough 
to pay every other demand, and leave an overplus for the 
future, the professional creditor may get his remuneration. 
The day labourer is the more independent of the two. He 
must be paid, for except he eat, he cannot work. The capi- 
talist lives then upon his income ; and the labourer cannot 
long subsist upon idleness. Men ever demand the most 
toil for the least possible wages. The harmony of society, 



416 JOUENAL. 

as now constituted, would be disturbed, we are told, by a 
more liberal competition, a true co-operation ; and so a less 
oppressive industry. There would be, however, in a co-opera- 
tive system, the immense advantage of allowing labour, 
time for a true culture, and for true intellectual uses ; and 
toil then would be alike for mind and for body. The 
great problems here involved are to be resolved some time. 
Let us wait, doing what we may till the fulness of time be 
come. 

I walked among the barracks. These are extensive, airy, 

well built, and I was told are kept in excellent order. The 

soldier is the most reckless, careless of men. He is wholly 

supported by others, — has, literally, nothing more to do than 

to appear on parade, — his dress and equipments being in 

perfect order, — and there learn the trade of death, — the 

science of killing, — he himself always having the chance 

of being dealt with as it is his trade to deal with others. 

Policy requires that a state maintained by an army should 

take care of the soldier. The burden upon the Grand 

Duke of Baden may not seem great, as his army amounts 

only to fifteen or twenty thousand men. But this is in 

*exact proportion to the extent of the state, and the tax 

upon industry is the same as elsewhere. The size of the 

Grand Duke's army has its compensation in his alliances 

oiFensive and defensive with Prussia and Austria. They 

are to protect him, and he them, as the case may be. I 

have heard of very small armies in my wanderings among 

German Dukedoms. I one day asked the name of a station. 

I was told it was PikenhusJi, — at least this was my nearest 

spelling of the name. I looked up, and saw plainly printed 

on the station house, Biichenburg. This not looking much 

like Pikenbush, I asked again for the name of the station. 

I got the same answer, and something more. Soon after I 

learned this was a Dukedom, — that the present Grand 

Duke inherited it from his father. It is his estate, and not 

being very large, his standing army is very small, three men 



JOURNAL. 417 

all told. This army is only in service on certain state occa- 
sions, sucb. as visits from Kings, or Dukes, and then it is 
thus : "When a royal or ducal visitor comes to Biichenburg, 
the army is at the entrance of the duchy to receive them, 
and having done so, passes rapidly to some other marked 
point, and there does the same ; and so on until the illus- 
trious visitor is fairly in the farmstead palace, or castle. 
The Duke, in the Diet, is as much of a leader as the 
best of them. Now this history, as related to me, may he 
only a myth, a fable, and the Germans are proverbially 
poetic. I am the more inclined to question some points in 
this account, as I was once told the contingent of Homburg, 
near Frankfurt, to the confederacy is very small ; Avhereas I 
find it in print to be two hundred men. This certainly 
beats the Duchy in numbers, and may serve to correct the 
error of report, if error exist. ■^•' 

We left ;Manheim about ten, a. m., taking the rail for 
Strasburg. As we advance we perceive a change in the 
language, the French growing constantly more and more 
frequent. I am daily called to notice the universality of 
the French language, — how common it is to meet it in the 
midst of other tongues. In women I have most frequently- 
met with this. Northern nations have much facility in 
learning languages. For ages the Latin tongue was the 
language of education in the universities, and in Hungary 

* While this work is passing through the press, I have met with the 
following account of the Duke of Biichenburg in a newspaper of the 
day. I see the spellmg of the name of his capital differs from mine, 
which was copied from that on the station. 

" Buckeburg, the capital of the little principahty of Schaumburg 
Lippe, was recently the scene of great festivity. The sturdy prince, 
who is upwards of seventy years of age, of which he has reigned 
thirty-nine, celebrated his goldm or fortieth marriage anniversary. 
He is so robust, and leads such a healthy and invigorating life, that the 
chances are he will live to celebrate his diamond or fiftieth wedding 
jubilee, and this, as the gossips of Krehwinkel-Buckeburg assert, with 
full title to the Dunmow flitch." 



418 JOURNAL. 

it was almost a vernacular. I well remember hearing an 
American traveller, who is an excellent scholar, say, that 
finding himself near by a German university, out of which 
the classes were passing, he addressed one in English, and 
then in French, as far as this would go. But, as he did not 
get ahead much, he resolved to try Latin. He was at once 
understood. The German, where it is vernacular, is not 
spoken with equal accuracy or elegance everywhere. Differ- 
ent states have their peculiarities, and provincialisms are 
not wanting. Thus, in Heidelberg, and throughout Baden, 
German is the least elegant. In Hanover the language is 
most perfect. The French is very common in Germany. I 
travelled with an Italian family, who spoke German and 
French. It was diverting to hear this family speaking such 
diverse tongues, and passing from one to the other without 
the least effort. It was clear that they did not mean that 
any body else in the carriage should understand much which 
they said. I allude to this subject here to speak of an- 
other, which has interested me. It is, that I have rarely 
met on the Continent, with Germans, well spoken English. 
In Russia the English is almost as perfect as it is from the 
mouth of an Englishman. This state of things, — this non- 
intercourse, is, of all things, the most annoying to the trav- 
eller. But that I have with me a courier, who speaks every 
language of every people I have visited, I should have made 
out most wretchedly. You want something. You go into 
a shop to get it. You might have as well gone to the 
deserts of Arabia for it. You are not understood. You 
cannot make yourself understood. A friend of mine in 
Germany wanted a hat-case. He hunted a town over. He 
asked for it. In natural signs he tried to describe it, but in 
vain. Two German words, for hat case, would have saved 
all the trouble. Two friends of mine wore travelling alone 
in a diligence, before railway times. They were strangers 
to each other. After long silence, one addressed the other 
in such French as was his. The other had none, or less 



jouii:n-al. 419 

than his fellow-traveller, and conversation soon lagged, and 
then stopped. German was next tried, but failure fol- 
lowed. At length an English word crept in, or out. " Can 
you speak English ? " cried one. " Can you ? " screamed 
the other, and there was no more silence. Another friend, 
this was a lady, had lighted at an inn in Italy, for the night, 
and it being cool, having examined the bed, asked for a 
blanket. The chamber-maid did not understand a word 
she said. Then by signs and words together, she laboured 
to be understood. But constant failure. At last, with the 
quick sagacity of a woman, she cried Baa, — Baa, and the 
sheep's clothing, in the form of a nice blanket, was brought 
at once. I have heard of another lady, (they were of 
America,) who was told that, by adding an o to English 
words, very tolerable Italian would be produced. As the 
story goes, she adopted this method, and succeeded admir- 
ably. Thus : Haveo youo anyo lodgingo ? et ccetero. 

Money matters are a great torment on the Continent. 
Every state has its own currency. Exchanges are made 
with both loss and difficulty, especially where the language, 
the name, and value of coins are unknown. If you are not 
very careful, you will insensibly get your purse filled with 
dead money, as ruinous to pleasant travel, as dead water to 
a ship's progress ; and then the chances of being cheated, — 
not the least of the annoyances of such useless coin. 

I cannot leave Germany, without a passing word of grati- 
tude for the privileges which were mine, and the pleasures 
I enjoyed, while a sojourner in its wide and noble territory. 
How vast have been its contributions to the literature, the 
philosophy, the arts and the science, which adorn nations, 
and keep in sure progress the civilization of the world. 
There was another aspect in which Germany is seen with 
interest. I mean its humanity. I do not use this word in 
its popular and restricted sense, — the performance of cer- 
tain duties to each other in certain relations, — poverty and 
riches for instance. I use the word in its higher signifi- 



420 JOUENAL. ' 

cance, — that never-forgotten provision by states, whole 
nations, for the highest intellectual and moral elevation, 
and the surest means of individual comfort and questionless 
pleasure. You see everywhere in Germany, industry, and 
in the closest connection its generous products. The labour 
is light. The product sure. The climate and the surface, 
the sky and the earth, concur to make Germany as com- 
fortable, as agreeable, as is any other portion of the material 
universe. The physical has and preserves its powers ; and 
for use, to a degree I have rarely seen equalled elsewhere. • 
Then how wide is intellectual culture. It is somewhat 
forced, indeed, for its elements, which are provided by the 
state, must be used. The child must go to school. He 
learns to read, and in this simple possession he has not 
only the means, but also the promise, and prophecy of any 
and every degree of human culture. Here is humanity in 
Germany. It is in education, in soil, in climate, and in a 
good physical organization. They are strong men, — these 
Germans. They are hard thinkers, and firm speakers, and 
strong actors. They have applied thought, man's reason, to 
theology, and after a manner unknown before. This has 
disturbed minds which have rested in authority for their 
faith and creed ; but to others it has given a character to 
theology, — the most important study to which the mind 
can devote itself, — which to many it never had before. It 
has related it to all other human concerns, and must have 
an important agency in the future Christian civilization. I 
am glad to have passed so much time here. I only regret 
that it was not longer. How happy should I be to see it 
again. In the Indian Summer of human life, — that return 
for a few days of the warm autumn, standing upon the 
threshold of the coming winter, as if to shake hands before 
it die, — in that momentary rejuvenescence w^hich some- 
times blesses old age, — how happy should I be to give 
some of its hours again to foreign travel ; and again find 
myself in the pleasant scenes, — the cheerful hapj)y life of 
Germany. 



JOURNAL. 421 

Strasbueg. — After leaving Manheim, on the way to 
Strasburg, a change is soon seen in the surface of the land. 
It is quite flat. The Rhine is not far distant. In the 
mineral water region of Baden Baden the country rises, 
and at Buhl, mountains and forests surround you. I was 
glad to tind myself again among these old acquaintances. 
It had rained in the fore part of the day, but in the latter 
part it was clear, and the level rays of the sun came back to 
us from mountain side, and forest leaf, with great richness 
and beauty. At length we crossed the Rhine for the last 
time, and were in France. 

We reached Strasburg late in the afternoon, but early 
enough to notice its approaches, and their principal objects. 
Towering above all else of man's work, is the spire of the 
Minster, the Dom, or the Cathedral, for so are such church 
buildings variously called. It stands alone and dark, — 
yes, black, with the accumulations of ages. You see at a 
distance where it is distinctly visible, the spire and a part of 
the tower only. Yet such are their perfect proportions that 
you have no feeling of the heavy, the clumsy, which other- 
wise such an unrelieved, and enormous mass would produce. 
The spire bounds your prospect, — or rising directly out of 
the far-off horizon, — for you are looking across a level, — 
it leans against or rests upon the sky as its natural support. 
It is nearly five hundred feet high, and cannot be first 
seen without deep emotion. I said the lofty spire. There 
is but one, and this not rising from the centre of the facade 
of the church, but from one of its angles or corners, suggests 
another as essential to the completeness of the architecture. 
I was, in fact, told that failure in the means is the cause of 
its unfinished condition. There stands its simple spire in 
widowed solitude, bearing itself nobly, and there it probably 
will ever remain alone. The architecture is somewhat 
mixed, the Gothic spire and clustered column, — with 
the Roman arch. At least this diversity may be found in 
it. But nothing disturbs the solemn majesty, the re- 
36 



422 JOUHNAL. 

pose of tlie whole. Its vastness silences detail ; and 
criticism has no voice in its presence. But vastness here 
does not exclude detail. Oh, no. Such is the exquisite 
finish, — the elaborateness of the walls, and roof, and spire, 
that they seem as covered with an exquisite lace. Some 
notion may be got of immensity here by standing near the 
tower upon which rests the spire. It rises within the church, 
and, without any disposition to exaggerate, it seemed large 
enough to fill the body of one of our largest churches. The 
demand for such a structure is in the enormous height, and 
weight of the spire. It is built throughout of stone, and 
nothing could resist its crushing weight but the stupendous 
foundation upon which it rests, — the tower. This is 
formed of columns, and few things impress one more than 
to see them in their vast size ascending till they end in 
giving origin to the spire, which seems to be their growth. 
There is an effect produced by this spire which I have 
noticed again and again in very high structures of the same 
kind. They seem less tall than they really are. The deception 
may be owing to their great size. They are seen so well at 
such vast heights, that one cannot lose the feeling that they 
are nearer the eye than they are. The spire of the Stras- 
burg Dom, strongly impressed me in this way, and I felt 
disappointed at its apparent want of height. There was 
wanting that indistinctness which we always associate with 
the distant. Mountains often deceive us. Seen many 
miles off, — standing alone on the traveller's horizon, — of the 
colour of the distant sky, or distinguished from it by the 
lights or shades of salient or receding masses, — or shining 
above the clouds in the lustre of their own sun, — moun- 
tains seem under these, and related aspects strike .us by 
their height, and masses. The White Mountains, seen from 
Winnipiseogee Lake, a great distance off, I think always 
impress the traveller with the idea of their height. As we 
aporoach, the height diminishes. We have neighbouring 
elevations to measure by. The mountain side is cultivated 



JOURNAL. 423 

a certain way up. Then we have trees, — next, diminislied 
vegetation, — then the naked rock reflecting the light so 
strongly as not to fail to bring the mountain nearer, — to 
diminish the height, — then perpetual snow, or ice, glisten- 
ing in the summer sun, making us to wonder that what is 
so fully seen, — is so near to us, — has not melted long ago. 
Great height produces vagueness, uncertainty in the objects 
looked for. The illusion is hurt by hints offered by what is 
easily seen, for these are, or involve questions of height. 
Raise a spire very high. Let it be small, tapering thinly 
and rapidly away. Place upon it a vane, representing a 
man, and of man's size. You will barely see it sufficiently to 
learn how it points. You have here the elements of height, 
or of its idea Let such a spire be only two hundred feet, 
and it will seem higher than that of Strasburg, which is five 
hundred. 

Some have said that the body of the church is too low 
for the tower and spire. It is on a plain, — perfectly level 
spot. So is Isaak Church in St. Petersburg, — and the body 
is kept down by the depressed state of the basement. But 
I was not stinted of a particle of my admiration, as I stood 
in the solemn presence of this grand and venerable work of 
man, by the fault-finding about the proportions of its mem- 
bers. You feel that this Strasburg Cathedral is related to 
the permanent in its present freshness, and in the assurances 
of history. It is throughout its exterior in perfect preserva- 
tion. It is coated with dust and soot, — with all and every- 
thing, which time can give. Is it not to these that its pre- 
servation as well as its colour, are to be ascribed, and not 
to the kind of stone ? The Cathedral in Cologne was begun 
about two hundred years after this. But the decay of the 
stone is very remarkable. The liberality of the Czar, as I 
heard, had enabled the city to proceed with the work, for it 
is still very far from completion. The Czar is brother-in- 
law to the King of Prussia. The contrast between the old 
stone and the new is striking indeed. I saw in another city 



424 JOURNAL. 

a public building of red sandstone, the age of wMcli I could 
not learn, but in wbich the stone of the walls everyv/here is 
so deeply decayed, that an entire new facing by thin layers 
of a stone is in progress. The restoration by this sort of 
stone veneering will be perfect. The effect of what is 
already done is excellent. The stone is compact, unaffected 
by moisture, heat, cold, air. It is a very important fact in 
the architecture of the exterior, that the material is so endu- 
ring. You can imagine nothing so delicate, so elaborate, as 
the work upon the spire, and exterior, or body of this 
church. The stone is cut into all sorts of forms. The spire 
is lace work in stone, and the light passing freely through 
its meshes, gives beauty, lightness, grace, to what is so vast 
as to amaze you by its effects. 

I cannot get away from this wonderful work. I enter it 
again. Here I see decay. P.epair keeps pace with it. You 
everywhere see stones which have been recently inserted, or 
walls renewed, or more frequently, new w^ork added, to 
finish an original intention, which seems to have been first 
deferred, and then forgotten. The greatest care is taken of 
the whole interior. It is regularly washed, but with great 
caution that architectural points, fine sculptures, should not 
be hurt by the process. Distinctness is everywhere. Every- 
thing tells its story. The light is on the projecting edge, 
or outline. The shadow is between all parts which are so 
related as to prevent the equal entrance of light. The 
effects are beautiful, and you cannot but feel grateful that 
there was a time in human history when such works might 
be begun, and that the latest ages have not neglected them. 
There are beautiful carvings in v\^ood, wherever wood may 
be used as pulpits, &c. The light comes in through painted 
glass, so perfect in its old history, and which astonishes you 
by its amount, and delights you by the exquisiteness of its 
execution. I can give you no idea of such size, such vast- 
ness, — of such antiquity, and such preservation, as give 
tone and character to this cathedral. I have rarely, if ever 



JOUKNAL. 425 

"before, had the consciousness of these elements of the 
sublime so clearly, so absolutely revealed to me. 

Strasburg Cathedral, the history of which is before me,"^** 
was built amidst storms and war, — lightning and tempests, 
— and which, since its completion, has met with disaster on 
all hands, so that a writer says, " They reach to such an 
amount that a volume would scarcely suffice for a list of 
them." This church stands to this day, the illustration and 
the proof of human progress in a matter of the deepest 
human interest, and a specimen of the highest human art. 
Time, sometimes, has given his busy hand to the work of 
destruction ; but human devotion and care have interposed 
to repair the waste, and to preserve and to carry it forward 
to the endless future. What has such claims on human 
reverence and care ? 

My next visit was to the Temple of St. Thomas. This 
establishment dates from 670, when St. Florent, Bishop of 
Strasburg, founded on its site a small hospital for certain 
monks, his countrymen. A hundred and sixty years after, 
Bishop Adeloch restored the church, made to it large gifts, 
and converted it into a college. It remained such till 1007, 
when it was burned down. At the accession of William to 
the Episcopal See, he rebuilt it, and inaugurated it in 1031. 
The Chapter was secularized in 1374, and the revenues 
transferred to the prebend. So things remained till the 
Reformation, the principles of which were adopted by the 
canons of St. Thomas. By an agreement made in 1548, 
between the magistrates of Strasburg and the Bishop Eras- 
mus, this last consented to the alienation of the revenues of 
the chapter of St. Thomas, and approved of the use which 

* The words completed and completion occm* in this account of the 
Cathedral of Strasburg. It, however, is not finished. It has but one 
spire. The other tower patiently waits for its fellow. This is alluded 
to, because in America, I remember at least one church in which this 
striking defect in the Strasburg Dom is copied as an architectural per- 
fection, — two towers, as has the Strasburg Dom, with one spire. 



426 JOURNAL. 

had been made of them. Since then the professors of the 
ancient university, and afterwards those of the Protestant 
seminary, have enjoyed the stipends of this church. I was 
told that of the revenue of St. Thomas, a large part was paid 
to the Cathedral. This brings to mind what was told me of 
an accommodation between Catholics and Protestants, in a 
matter of worship, in Heidelberg. I was walking one day 

in Heidelberg, with Mr. , and saw a large, and 

very long building in the middle of a wide street, or square. 
Said my friend, there is a history about this church which 
may interest you. One end of it is used by Protestants, 
and the other by Catholics. There is no division for this 
accommodation, but this is compensated for by an arrange- 
ment between the two religions. One uses the church in 
the forenoon, the other in the afternoon. Peace in the 
house of God is thus preserved among the worshipping 
Christians. I am reminded by this anecdote of a somewhat 
similar arrangement, if such was ever made, between two 
sects, in a town not far from my home in America. An 
Orthodox church, so called, had, for a century or more, stood 
on the side of a square, or market-place. In the progress 
of religious ideas, a Unitarian place of worship was built 
nearly opposite to it. Said a friend, a humourist, to me 
one day, when I was speaking of what had occurred, " The 
Lord's people have agreed to come out of their churches at 
different hours, lest they should fight in the market place." 
Among the objects of interest in St. Thomas' are some 
sculptures, — the monument of Marshal de Saxe, placed here 
by Louis XV., busts of Oberlin and of Koch, and two 
mummies, discovered in 1802. There are also some pic- 
tures. 

Let me say a word or two about Strasburg. It is a nice 
city, having somewhere about seventy thousand inhabitants, 
forty thousand Protestants, and thirty thousand Catholics. 
At least so I am told. There are eight thousand soldiers to 
keep the other thousands in order. I said to one who told 



JOURNAL. 427 

me this, that they must be sad fellows in Strasburg, to 
requii-e so many soldiers to preserve order, — for that in my 
country we had hardly double that number of public mus- 
kets to keep the peace, with a population of between 
twenty and thirty million. He was quite amused at our 
peace establishment. My courier asked me if I wished to 
go to the theatre. I asked of the play, actors, &c. He 
said Madame Rackal^ or Rascal, or somebody else, was to 
play, — that she was celebrated, — and that the play was 
Adrienne. I directed him to get a ticket, and went. Of 
the play I can say but little. It was, of course, in French. 
I had never read it, or seen it before. It was " Greek " to 
me. Rachel, in her great power, told the story. The 
power was in her commanding person, her face, expression, 
voice, manner. She was at home in the character, and 
lived in it. You did not, for a moment, lose the conscious- 
ness of being in the presence of the greatest actress of the 
age. I thought her power was most strikingly manifested 
in her low, sometimes, lowest tones. The silence of the 
house was as profound as if she alone were in it. The 
theatre is large, and dark, from the colour of the walls and 
ceiling, and want of lights. The stage was perfectly well 
lighted. There was no orchestra. Scenes were changed, 
and curtain raised, by strokes of a hammer on the floor of 
the stage. The manner of the audience attracted my atten- 
tion at once. From the beginning to the ending, there was 
perfect, and entire silence, and fixed attention. There was 
no music, still the intervals between the acts were not dis- 
turbed by impatience, or noisy demands of any kind, or for 
anything. Even applause was subdued to the occasion, and 
had its depth in its delicacy. It was hearty, without being 
deafening. In regard to the prevailing character of the 
audience towards the actors, a like respectful attention was 
paid to all. It seemed to matter not who were on the stage, 
or what was said, or how. The crowded parquette was 
equally attentive, and still. I saw in all this two agencies 



428 JOITKKAL. 

in operation, wliicli are sure to produce such effects. First, 
the authority of government, as felt in every public interest. 
Secondly, the national sense of propriety, — the correspond- 
ence of individual conduct with public duty. You say all 
this is outside, superficial, heartless, and forced. Very 
well. In what other way can the real be expressed ? If 
the merely artificial, the conventional life of a people, as 
you call it, be decent, be refined, — if it serve and please 
you, and everybody else, — what more do you want ? You 
look for the national character in the conduct of the many, 
and of the few. If this be marked by courtesy, — by a 
desire to please, why go behind the record to hunt up 
causes ? Suppose the effort to please you is to be paid for. 
What better thing is there in the social market ? What 
better can money buy ? I, for one, say it is grateful to me, 
and I will do what I can to show my sense of it. If it 
demand a journey, — a voyage of one thousand leagues, to 
find it, — I am on hand to undertake it. 

In my walks I met with many things which interested 
me. Among these is a very fine statue of Giittenberg, 
usually called the inventor of the printing press. Kleber, 
who was a native of Strasburg, with the above, and was 
killed by a fanatic Turk, while at the head of the French 
forces in Egypt, after Bonaparte's return to France, has a 
statue to his memory in the city. It stands in the Place 
D'Armes, and, as a work of art, attracts much attention. 
This is a most clean, neat city. The streets are swept often 
every day by women, who know how to sweep. 

The quiet of these cities is great. I have before alluded 
to it, and here it is as striking as elsewhere. People attend 
to what they are interested in. I was sitting at my window 
early one damp, somewhat chilly, morning, and witnessed 
the following : A large load of wood was stopped at a door 
opposite. A woman well dressed, with bonnet on, came 
out, and stood on the street side of the long four-wheeled 
cart. A man soon appeared with a long measuring pole. 



JOURNAL. 429 

The woman, with hands in pockets, watched the process of 
unloading with most attentive eye. The measurer stuck up 
two uprights, for supports of the pile, or range, about to be 
made of the wood, and the process began. Every stick was 
watched. A crooked or knotty one was at once rejected, 
and put aside. Sometimes a large gnarled crooked log 
would turn up. It was at once challenged, and rejected. 
The whole quantity might have been between two and three 
cords, and nearly an hour was used in placing and measuring 
it. But there stood the lady. She scarcely moved, follo\ving 
with her eye the whole process. The peasant did just what 
she ordered, and without the least question. It was to me 
a whole history. 

Soon after the wood came a wagon, with lids opening at 
both ends, like our city scavenger wagons, only longer and 
wider. Two men sat in front. They stopped opposite my 
window. One of the men looked behind with much inter- 
est, and soon jumped to the ground, and walked fast behind 
the wagon. I saw him stop close by a peasant's cart, and 
seizing a middle sized dog, took him under his arm, and 
walked back to his wagon. The peasant remonstrated, but 
it was no use. The man with the dog raised the tail end 
lid. The cart was full of dogs. They were of fair size, of 
a yellowish or reddish brown colour, fine, handsome dogs, as 
you will ever see. They were perfectly quiet, as much so 
as any Strasburger. Not a bark, nor a yell, nor a whine. 
They looked at the stranger, as the man thrust the new 
comer amongst them, with calm countenance, but as if 
thinking the " coach was full." I asked the meaning of all 
this. Hydrox^hobia has been very rife in France, and to 
prevent it, a law was passed, that if a dog was abroad with- 
out a string about his neck, and the other end in the 
owner's hand, he should be taken up and " dealt with." 
The peasant's dog came within the category, and, with his 
new acquaintances, was, when I last saw him, on his way to 
sacrifice. 



430 JOUK^AL. 

Pahis. — Left Strasburg for Paris. "We filled the coach, 
as we thought, perfectlj^ with ourselves and luggage, and, 
with six fine horses, three abreast, we got on swimmingly. 
We had not proceeded far, however, before we had a some- 
what inconvenient addition to our party. Fourteen con- 
scripts, en route to some military station, mounted our 
loaded carriage, and bestowed themselves in the banquette 
on the top of the diligence. They were fine looking young 
men, or rather boys, ranging from sixteen to eighteen, and 
as full of fun as they well could be. At every stopping 
place, these fourteen pair of legs came dangling down in 
front of the coupe, where I sat, and were to be dangled up 
again before we started. Their owners found something 
very attractive in the inns, for they were as slow as they 
could be about leaving them, and evidently came out with 
higher or better spirits than they entered with. They 
laughed, and roared, and sang at the top of their voices, 
and kicked about as much as their narrow quarters permit- 
ted. At nightfall we reached Nancy. Nancy is the ter- 
minus of the day's travel, and here we passed the night. 
Through our whole route we w^ere beset with beggars, men, 
women, and children. They were wretched looking enough, 
but seemed better ofi" than the Austrian specimens of the 
same. The children especially looked healthy and comfort- 
ably clad. These incursions of poverty were made all along 
the hillsides, the coach crawling slowly up their heights, 
giving ample time for the various exhibitions of the sufier- 
ing of the neighbourhoods. The railway will be fatal to all 
this beggary, and Avhat will become of the beggars who have 
so long depended upon the roadside charity, I cannot tell. 

At six, p. M., precisely, Saturday evening, the day's work 
was ended by my entering Paris. It seemed as if life, going 
on everywhere, were active without restlessness. Sunday 
was an exquisite morning, its temperature making walking a 
luxury, and showing everything in its very best dress. Op- 
posite my window is the Tuileries Garden. This garden 



joirnNAL. 431 

gets its name from tuile, or tile, for here tiles were once 
made. It is now the pride of Paris, — a garden of between 
fifty and sixty acres, with a palace attached, — the last for 
the monarch, — the first for the people. You feel at 
once which is the best provided for. The garden is full of 
old trees, orange trees of large size among the rest, — 
flowers for sight and for smell. Ample walks for the mil- 
lion and a half, and large spaces for all sorts of temporary 
amusements. Tuileries Garden is constantly used, and 
enjoyed by all. It lies in the midst of the city, with the 
Rue Rivoli on one side, and the Seine on the other. The 
palace was begun by Catherine de Medici, wife of Henry II. 
Henry IV. extended and finished the gallery (1600.) Louis 
XIV. enlarged it in IGoi, and completed the great gallery for 
the arts. Napoleon began a gallery leading to the Place Rivoli 
and street St. Honore, which he did not finish. The Rue 
Rivoli is of great length, with buildings on one side the lower 
stories, of which are shops with a colonnade, and making 
a wide walk protected from the summer sun and rain. This 
fine street is now forcing its way in a straight line as far as 
the Place Bastile, and when completed will be between four 
and five miles in length. 

I came to a large building, in form a Grecian temple, with 
its pediment with its supporting colonnade ; and the lateral 
colonnades, which support the overlapping roof at its sides. 
This is the Madeleine. The modern church is not only 
frequently modelled on the old temple, but the name applied 
to it is sometimes derived from a building which was not a 
temple. It is thus sometimes called a basilica. Now this 
name was originally given to a court of justice, or a place of 
meeting on public affairs. Constantine gave to the Chris- 
tians some of these basilica for their meetings, and hence 
the name basilica became common in this use of it. Another 
explanation is that the basilica had colonnades, and so had 
the early churches, and hence the name became common to 
both. The temple never pleases me as a church. In the 



432 JOUKXAL. 

ancient simplicity of its interior, if this be strictly follo^Yed, 
we may have poverty, not grandeur ; and if we break it up 
for accommodating-pews for religious uses, vastness is lost in 
the process. The Gothic is grand in its immensity, and har- 
monious in its exquisite detail. You never feel disappointed 
w^hen you pass from the outer magnificence into that which 
it contains ; or for which it is. You stand in astonishment 
in such a fulfilment which so exceeds the promise. "Jtou 
walk with noiseless steps, — and speak with subdued voice. 
Truly is the old cathedral a poem written in immortal pages, 
and forever singing of devotion, — of love, — of aspiration, 
— ever in tune, — in harmony with the worship of the Inif- 
nite. 

I went into the Madeleine. It was the forenoon service. 
The people imperfectly filled about a third of the place. 
They were supplied with chairs at a sous a piece, an excel- 
lent arrangement, as it prevents the impertinence, and 
exclusiveness of pews, a deformity which probably does 
more to keep people from church than any other fact relating 
to public worship, so called. The preacher began his ser- 
mon soon after I had hired a chair. His person and manner 
are excellent. He was eloquent, as is he who, to such a 
work, brings earnestness, grace of manner, and a good voice. 
As, however, to me he spoke in a tongue, if not unknown, 
imperfectly known, I followed the example of some who 
did know it, and walked out into the genial sunlight of the 
beautiful day. The evening service has the attraction of 
the best music in Paris, and the Madeleine is then filled to 
overflowing, — a victory of art over preaching. Then it is 
that wealth, fashion, rank, is out of door with the multitude, 
and on its way to the temple. 

I wandered about, acquiring as I went, more and more 
knowledge of this vast metropolis of a great nation. The 
knowledge was literally superficial, but exactly such as a 
stranger most wants on his advent into so wide and to him 
hourly, or less, changing scene. Towards evening I strolled 



JOUKNAL. 433 

into the garden, and into its near neighbour, the Champs 
Elysees. The people were gathering from all quarters. 
Paris was out of doors. The hour was perfectly beautiful. 
The day dawned with the smile of welcome, and its farewell 
was without a sigh. All were nicely dressed, and manner 
was in harmony with their appearance. It was quiet, civil, 
accommodating. A well dressed man with a child in his 
arms and accompanied by a woman with three children, 
passed. Said my companion, " That man is a mechanic, and 
those with him his family. He has made enough by his 
week's work to support them, and now he is over here in 
the garden, for their pleasure, and his own." You need be 
in Paris but a short time to learn how easy it is for crqwds 
to be perfectly polite, courteous, without interfering at all 
with each other's convenience and pleasure, but on the con- 
trary, promoting both. Sunday is the weekly holiday of 
Paris. The churches are crowded, and the streets and shops 
not deserted. The Garden is the centre of attraction in the 
evening. All sorts of arrangements are made for the public 
amusement. Shows of all kinds abound, from the most 
simple, — for instance, a dog leaping over a string held by 
two boys, at a height which, at first, seems too great for 
him to surmount, but which you see is kindly accommodated 
to his power during the experiment, and this to the entire 
satisfaction of his young audience, — to a raised and 
enclosed platform with an open front, in which is performed 
some slight vaudeville, or slighter concert. A space in 
front is filled with seats between which waiters are constantly 
passing, off*ering coff*ee, creams, lemonade, &c., and a sous 
or two v.'orth of either gives you a seat as well as a sight, 
and hearing of the performance. The variety and simplicity 
of the means of amusement, especially attract the stranger. 
I have spoken of the dancing dog. A woman had her circle, 
though her principal attraction was a hand-organ, and a dog 
standing on his hind legs, and holding a cap for money in 
his fore-paws. A man weighed people, and as it is a weak- 
37 



434 JOURNAL. 

ness, or a privilege, to learn what is one's weight, in 
the society in which one moves, this man had much cus- 
tom. There were turn-abouts of various kinds. One had 
vessels in full sail, with colours flying, and flying themselves, 
filled with children as happy as children could be. Their 
mothers, or others, were fellow-travellers of the air, and 
prevented accidents. This whole affair was very tasteful, 
and the mechanism allowed of motions resembling that of 
waves. A girl played a harp with an accompaniment. This 
exhibition was very popular. It was added to, by a pretty 
child nicely dressed, mounted on high stilts, which she 
managed admirably, gracefully bowing to receive the money 
for the musical part of the entertainment. But why extend 
the record ? I could fill pages with the means in use for 
the Sunday, the holiday amusement. All sorts of things, 
for all sorts of demand. Eating and drinking were simple 
and abundant, and the pleasure was in harmony with 
everything you saw and heard — in every face, and in every 
movement. What most strikes the stranger is this perfect 
satisfaction with everything, as declared by vast assemblages, 
and the obvious wish that everybody should enjoy the 
scene. I wandered about with my courier, talking the 
American and the Danish English, but nobody took the 
trouble, or was so uncivil as to turn round to observe the 
strangers. But wherever we came, or stopped to see some- 
thing v/hich had attracted a local crowd, some little move- 
ment would be seen when our voices were heard, — some 
opening made, Avhich gave us a chance to see what was 
in hand. This gave no disturbance to others. There was 
no hurry in the courtesy, and it was impossible to avoid 
some expression of pleasure, at what an earlier experience 
elsewhere might not have led you to look for. There was 
not the slightest shade of servility in it. Now if a govern- 
ment really exists which can develope in large masses 
of men, under any circumstances, a manner so wholly 
welcome, and truly agreeable, I can only say it is a govern- 
ment which does not rule a world. 



JOUKXAL. 435 

Hospital of Invalids. — I was everywhere in the 
midst and presence of this living Paris. Few objects 
attracted my attention more than the soldiers of the Hospi- 
tal of Invalids, hard by. The old men of war were here, 
such portions of them as battle had left. Some with one 
eye, — others with one leg, — here an arm was wanting, — 
and there a part of the face. But whatever the mutilation, 
what was left was alive, and living, and life seemed as happy 
with these old men, as with the youngest child. They 
wore the old uniform, bringing to the present the sure me- 
morials of the long past. You saw in them the remnant of 
Wagram and of Moscow, and felt that, in a few short 
years, the wariors in the first Empire would be no more. 
Was there not justice in this munificent endowment of the 
Hospital of Invalids by Louis XIV., — in this provision for 
men forced into battle, and who had come out of its bloody 
service to support life with only fragments of a body which 
had been so miraculously preserved ? The terrible spirit of 
the Revolution spared this relic of an earlier and sterner 
tyranny than that which it crushed ; and the latest has not 
diverted from it the means of its sufficient and liberal sup- 
port. The " Invalids " is placed just where it can be always 
seen, and by the greatest numbers. Here may be a motive 
for soldier making. It is a compensation in reserve, — a 
sort of social or rather political make-weight of charity, 
which it were unmitigated cruelty not to have provided. 
The evil of war given, every species of compensation be- 
comes an obligation, a duty, which it were simple savagery 
to avoid. The Invalid was of this great Garden company, 
and I looked at him with the deepest interest. You know 
this military corps, if such a term can be applied to such 
mutilated men. I said they wear a uniform. It is blue, 
with slight touches of other colours. They have another 
and more distinctive uniform, — an uniform of non-confor- 
mity. It is in all sorts of mutilation, and all sorts of con- 
trivances to supply such varied deficiency of bodily members. 



436 JOUBNAL. 

You see in them, and -what had been attempted for them, 
what society tries to do to cover up, or supply what has 
become deficient by its own terrible wrong. If the man be 
killed outright, and leaves widow or orphans, the state may 
adopt them, and make such provision as it can for the woful 
loss. It is in this way, it was said, and no apology is needed 
for the repetition, — society unconsciously, it may be, offers 
motives for the continuance of the greatest national evils, — 
a premium on customs over which humanity mourns, and in 
which Christianity sees and feels the chiefest obstacles to its 
surest triumphs. I was glad to see these old, decrepit, 
maimed men. They are in the midst of innocent, child- 
ish amusements, indeed, but which seemed to have a 
meaning w^hen you saw their age, their weakness, their sure 
progress to that time, Avhen the child returns upon the man, 
as a prelude to a new birth, and another life. The Invalid 
took his seat, smoked his cigar, drank his lemonade, and 
seemed as happy as the youngest and the best of them. I 
wish you were here to see, in this great city, how strong 
are the instincts in man's nature, — how sure are their rule, 
and how easily they may be satisfied, — in short, to see so 
much pleasure provided and enjoyed at so exceedingly small 
an outlay of the means. Is it not true, that to be easily 
pleased, is the secret of pleasure ? 

In regard to the building itself, simplicity prevails every- 
where. The floorings in the ceilings are uncovered, as in 
buildings rather for use than for show ; and corresponding 
plainness prevails. The church is fine, large, and lofty, and 
hung with flags from battle fields ; some much worse or 
better for service. There is among them one English flag, 
but no American. If the old soldier wdio guides you 
learns that you are a Yankee, he wdll smile when he tells it 
you. The dormitories are very neat. The beds are ftdl 
and high, as the French most like. They are covered with 
neat counterpanes, with a jDanelled bureau at the foot of 
each, — wash-stand, night table, &c., at the sides. The 



JOURNAL. 437 

floor is clean, and the ventilation excellent. It was plea- 
sant to see all this preparation for the comfort of men 
whom, for the most part, by involuntary service, and its 
sure results, have been deprived of the power of self- 
support. There is compensation here, as in the whole 
experience and discipline of life, for the most barbarous and 
terrible of social evils, war ; and one blesses God that for 
such society has done anything. 

The dining halls are as well appointed as the dormitories. 
There are four of them. About three hundred and sixty 
dine in each. The average number of invalids is about 
fourteen hundred. The house is not always the object of 
chiefest interest. It is not in this. Its inhabitants form its 
attraction. They make a very singular corps. I saw them 
in line, as at drill. It may have been to relieve guard. In 
their infirmity and age, 1 could not but look back at the 
other end of life, when, as children, with wooden swords 
and paper caps, with tin kettles for drums, we marched 
about, as efficient a soldiery as the mutilated old men before 
me. Among the invalids there was one who especially 
attracted notice. He was a very, very old man, they said 
over one hundred, and was crawling about with a grand- 
daughter of some considerable age. I talked with him, and 
learned he had seen service, — had been in Quebec, and 
evidently took pleasure in his reminiscences, and in the 
attention they received. 

But not to the wounded, living soldier, is the whole 
interest of the Invalids owing. How large a part of it is 
from death, and in a single instance. In a small room, lies 
Napoleon. But for him, hard by, is in preparation a monu- 
ment, of a nation s reverence and love. At one end of the 
church is a screen, and behind it, in a separated portion 
of the church, is this monument. Its floor is level with 
that of the chapel. But in the middle of it is an excavation, 
into which you descend by steps arranged all around it, and 
in which is the place of burial. The sarcophagus of black 
87* 



438 JOURNAL. 

marble occupies the middle, so that from around, from all 
sides, your eye rests upon it. The impression made by all 
around you is of grandeur, expressed by that simplicity 
which always gives strength to the grand. Architectural 
details which can aid in the effect, are everywhere in place. 
Everything is in stone. The floor is of inlaid stone of 
various colours, and differently arranged in the approach to 
the spot in which the body is to lie, and in the place itself. 
In this last they have a radiating arrangement, the rays of 
yellow stone converging from the circumference to the 
centre, which is the black marble sarcophagus. On the 
floor, and near to the screen is an arch, with a simple cross 
of marble, of great size, near to it. The pillars of the arch 
are of white and black marble, twisted, and of a polish I do 
not remember to have seen excelled. About the arch are 
figures at present covered up, as are many parts of the 
work to prevent injury, while the heavy stone work is 
proceeding. It is not easy to conjecture when it will be 
finished, though apparently so nearly done, so slow is its 
necessary progress. When it is completed, and the screen 
is removed which separates it from the body of the church, 
the effect cannot fail to be such as its object and accomplish- 
ment are designed to produce. 

National Cikcijs. — In my rambles, I went into the 
Champs Elysees and saw a large building, which, as its name 
imported, was the National Circus. It was still broad day- 
light, but brilliant lights were seen in the building. What 
especially attracted attention, was the large number of per- 
sons coming to the Circus, and the order of their approach. 
They were men and women, doubtless seeking admittance, 
and good places. There was not an approach to a press. 
There were spaces between parties desirous to sit together. 
The order and quiet were perfect. There were people 
enough there to have occasioned infinite annoyance, and yet 
mutual accommodation was manifested on every side. How 
is this explained ? I am answered, by the police. Power 



JOUHNAL. 439 

is at hand to preyent disorder, and so it does not occur to 
be put down ! And what does this say ? It says that men 
and women cheerfully submit to authority, when its possible 
exercise, not actual use, keeps the folds of dresses, — the 
richest plaitings of muslin, undisturbed, and coats, bonnets, 
hats, and heads, in their proper places, and especially min- 
isters to daily and hourly comfort, and pleasure. Yes, it 
says, that the mere assurance of entire protection does them 
each and all so obvious a service, that it is never for a 
moment thought of as an evil. They feel that they are 
made happier and better by its whole agency. 

Now, what is the effect of the municipal system in 
France ? In Paris, on every hand, are exposed to the com- 
mon gaze, — out of doors, — objects of both nature and art. 
Gardens, wdth flowers, shrubs, trees, — arches, fountains, 
squares, or places with statuary, gateways of elaborate orna- 
ment, — all sorts of things are at hand, adapted to the 
general taste, or fitted to develope it, — to do good by all 
of refinement they may produce. From the interest I 
everywhere saw taken in these things, I am sure that they 
give pleasure, — that they are talked of, criticized by the 
observer, — that the people know all about them, — are 
proud of them, — feel that they are their property, their 
possession, and would defend them as their chiefest trea- 
sures. They never touch or injure them. The Revolution 
killed a king, but spared the Louvre. I stood, and moved 
among the people who were looking at the fountains, flow- 
ers, statues. They were satisfied wdth looking. Now, 
there is refinement in this. I go not behind a fact for any 
other causes than such as are offered by the circumstances. 
I am satisfied wdth such a result, let what may aid in its 
production. It is a great lesson of life which my daily 
observation here reads to me. I am a stranger, and speak 
in an unknow^n tongue to most, but 1 do not attract atten- 
tion, am not stared at. I go about to see and hear, and 
eyes and ears are too common affairs to make their proper 



440 JOURNAL. 

uses matters of notice. I may pass many days here. I may 
see many things, lions, which are to the travelling masses 
much more attractive than my Sunday experiences just 
recorded. But I will venture to say that I shall see nothing 
which will interest me more than have living men, — espe- 
cially men who have escaped the poor conventions which 
chiefly act to separate men from each other, — stop the 
clear and beautiful current of human sympathy, which fuses 
men into one, — and force classes into the wretched service 
of that heartless fashion, or exclusiveness, which is destruc- 
tive to a generous and life-giving relationship. I shall cer- 
tainly go to the Garden again. 

Let me here tell you of individual or personal results 
of Paris manners and life. You shall have examples from 
my own experience of them. I had agreed to go to the 
Opera Comique one evening, with Mr. A. C, a gentleman 
from home, to whom I am under many obligations. We 
thought we might be late, and with national speed proceeded 
to the place, — to the house. I struck my foot against a 
curb-stone, and heavily fell into the mud, which a recent 
shower had produced, and painfully wounded myself. Hard 
by was a shop, — a very small shop, with a single candle 
on the counter. We went in, and a middle aged, simply 
dressed woman, came from a back room, to know our needs. 
My story told itself. See went out, and returned at once 
with wash-bowl and water, — a nice napkin on her arm, — 
brush and soap in hand, and began, as the phrase is, to 
" clean me up." The blood was stanched, and the mud 
removed, and I greatly comforted. I took some money out 
of my pocket, and handing it to this Samaritan lady, begged 
her to take as much as would satisfy her, for such offices most 
kindly bestowed, — such useful services. She declined 
taking anything. She was happy to have served me, and 
this was enough. I shall never forget the kindness of that 
unknown woman. 

I had a commission to execute for a female friend at 



JOURNAL. 441 

home, and wishing to proceed in the best manner for the 

object, called at No. Castiglione Street, to be directed 

to a good and fashionable arHiste. I got on a card, name, 
street, and number. You know my constitutional infirmity 
about finding places. It soon declared itself, and I found 
myself in that most uncomfortable situation, — Lost. A nice 
shop was near, with its open door, and in it I sought guid- 
ance. I was successful. A very pleasing young female 

came forward and described to me the way to Mad. 's. 

She saw I was still in the dark, and begged to go and show 
me the way. At once, without bonnet or shawl, leaving 
the door wide open, with nobody to guard the shop, she 
stejiped out upon the sidewalk, I following her. After 
sundry turnings we reached the fashionable millinery, and 
my fair guide left me, hardly allowing a moment for thanks. 
It were the easiest thing in the world to fill pages with this 
sort of incident of travel, and what more grateful ones 
could I record ? It was in both manner and conduct which 
a distinguished writer calls the expressions of character, in 
which they had their interest, and have their memory. 
Courtesy is cheaper than is money, and yet it seems harder 
to pay. It is a sentiment and an act. In Paris, how com- 
monly, may I not say how universally, do the sentiment 
and the act accompany each other. 

August — . — I went to the Legation, and found my de- 
spatches were in time for the steamer. The Minister was not 
in Paris. From Mr. Sandford, Secretary of Legation, I 
have received civilities which I have not forgotten. I met 
there an American gentleman, who had intimately known a 
friend of mine, now dead, and who spoke of him in the 
warmest manner. He spoke of his knowledge, and how 
this had led to an introduction which had ended in intimacy. 
" I was making," said he, "a quotation from an author, in 
whose works we both felt an interest, when he begged to 
correct me, which he did, and in a manner which greatly 
pleased me. From this time our intimacy began." I 



442 JOURNAL. 

asked him if he had not found him somewhat eccentric. 
" O, yes," said he, " but that did not at all trouble me." 
Thus you see what, and how intimate are human relations, 
— how closely is mind united to mind, — how continuous, 
unbroken, is the great stream of life, and of thought, and 
how sure is a true humanity to declare itself. Who would 
have supposed it possible, that so far from home, and in 
such a room, I should have met with a man I had never 
before heard of, who so intimately knew that early and true 
friend of mine, and who was not forgotten by him at such a 
distance of time, though so long dead. 

Notre Dame. — This, to me, was an object of great 
interest, and was visited next. It stands there in its an- 
tiquity and darkness in gay Paris as if just as much in place 
as the Palais Royale, and certainly no two things in the 
world can be more opposite and unlike. The old church 
attracts you by its exterior, size, form, sculptures, its age. 
Human art and human labour have almost wasted them- 
selves in these great results. I might have added religion, 
for it w^as this sentiment which underlies such efforts, and 
such accomplishments. No matter under what form it 
occupies mind and heart, we have a right to conclude of its 
depth, and its power, by what visible marks it makes upon 
its ov/n age, and by the perfect unity it secures with the long 
future. Notre Dame has withstood all the revolutions, and 
the chiefest, which it has been said was "without God," — 
the product of national infidelity, and atheism ; which made 
Talleyrand its bishop, and Anacharsis Clouts, its orator, — 
even that revolution spared Notre Dame ; though, as did 
he British cavalry with our Old South Church, it did make 
.'Stable or riding school of its interior. On the inside it is 
very much as it was left by that terrible passage in human 
history. You enter it by a small, low door, from the restless, 
busy street, and in an instant you are beyond its noise and 
its power. Such is the unobstructed vastness into which 
you have so suddenly passed, that you forget outside imper- 



JOUKNAL. 443 

tinences, and are lost in the intense loneliness which sur- 
rounds and encloses you. Such is the plethora, — such the 
grandeur of column, — of wall, — of ceiling ; such the vast- 
ness, — but never oppressing you. The old architecture in 
a single expression of it, the present cathedral, for instance, 
seems to have had nothing else to do but to create this one, 
and entered into the service of the individual, as containing 
genus, species, all. Years, and centuries, and ages, dragged 
by, and yet the work was not done. Look at the cathedral 
in Cologne, and see its earliest portions, ages old, wasting 
and wasted away, and hear there the busy hammer and 
trowel of this nineteenth century, — of to-day. I go daily 
into churches. The door is always open. The old cathedral 
is not owned, tiny more than is the sun, and the stars. It 
owns itself, and generously throws open its doors and its 
service to the wayfarer, whoever he may be ; and presses 
him into that service for which alone it is, and has its being. 
It is the noblest work of man. It has its story and tells it. 
It is written all over its walls, and devotion and reverence 
are its teachings. 

There was an old woman, and from her clothing, evidently 
not of the rich, on her knees at the chancel in Notre Dame, 
and in its vastness and wealth of silence, was saying her 
unuttered prayer. She was the only one except myself 
there. It was not an impertinence to stop and mark her 
devotions. Oh, no, it was not unkind, it was not intruding 
upon that with which the stranger might not intermeddle. 
You instinctively pause at such an office, lest by motion you 
disturb it. I was glad. I rejoiced that this poor wretched 
looking woman might that moment have that peace which is 
past finding out, — which the world had not given her ; 
and which it could not take away. I like this cathedral 
service, and more in its silence than in its splendour, — this 
door always open, and which admits me as freely as its most 
zealous child. I like to leave the wide street, and by crossing 
the threshold only, find myself in the stillness of the grave, 



444 JOUBXAL. 

and where tTie outward noises never are heard. Was it for 
this, for this creation, so to speak, of religious repose, that 
the cathedral, the old church rose so majestically, — enclosed 
so much space within sanctified walls, and left the world to 
itself, and allowed the worshipper to escape for a time its poor 
impertinences, its meaningless noise ? And then when we 
take along with us the all and the whole which belongs to 
the time-worn cathedral, — the antiquity, the uncertain 
knowledge of the time when the work began, does it not 
associate itself with the earliest day, — the world's child- 
hood, and so come to be a part of the Divine, which is for- 
ever ? With what reverence do we not enter such places. 
We put off our shoes, for we are on holy ground. We would 
not break such repose. We would not disturb such silence. 
It is of the dead, as well as of the living, — of the young, 
— of the old, — of the poor, and of the rich. A child 
passed through Notre Dame. At the door, he made the 
sign of the cross upon his forehead with water which he 
believed was holy, and was again at play. 

Garden or Plaxts. — From Notre Dame I went to the 
Garden of Plants. A sudden and vehement storm of wind 
and of rain came on and drove us from the Garden, just 
after I had entered. I sought shelter, and put off my visit 
to a more convenient season. 

Palais Royale. — To this everybody goes, and I fol- 
lowed the multitude, to do evil or good. You may say 
which, for all I did was to buy a pretty silk neckerchief. 
This suggests a subject to which I know you would have me 
say at least a word, — Paris Shopping. Go into a Paris 
shop, and raise your hat as you enter, and see how at once 
the elder or the younger lady (never a man) approaches to 
serve you. Observe the quiet manner in which the articles 
you ask for are displayed. You want gloves. Your hand 
is measured, and the gloves are brought. You try them on, 
or this is done by fairer hands. You make your choice, and 
pay the price, and lastly, hear the Merci, Monsieur, " in 



JOURNAL. 445 

linked sweetness long drawn out," and which no foreigner 
can imitate, and tell me if shopping has not been a pleasant 
morning service, and if the memory of those large dark 
eyes, and of that voice, has not lasted more than the length 
of the street, even though it be as long as the Rue Rivoli ? 
You feel at once at home in Paris, though a perfect stranger. 
Whatever service you may ask for is rendered, as if originally 
you were its sole object. What you may want, is never 
worthless. The fair seller sees its value in your wanting 
it, and will serve you with the very best. What you want 
may be near, but never obtruded. This quality of obtru- 
siveness I never met with in Paris. It would please the 
person to whom you apply to gratify you, and the desire to 
do so, and the manner of its expression always lessen the 
disappointment of failure. One day I went into a shop for 
something I wanted for a special purpose, and failed to get 
it. So attentive was the shopkeeper, so desirous to serve 
me, that I said that I could not go without purchasing 
something, and left it to her to settle what it might be. 
She at once brought me a pretty and useful article, for 
which I thanked, and paid her. 

The LouYKE. August 2d. — A day of hard work. The 
Louvre, — my first visit. I began with the beginning of 
this immense collection in Art, and slowly went through it. 
It took hours, though I did not use a catalogue. My pur- 
pose was to get a general impression of what was here for 
study, thought, gathered into one family, — to trace rela- 
tionships, and differences, — the works of difierent nations, 
minds, power, — to read this mighty book page by page, 
and in such generalizations as I might be able to make, 
place these great and diverse works in such relations in my 
own mind, as would remain to me for pleasure and for use. 
I passed through the Louvre at first to learn its contents, 
and general plan. It took hours, the heart of the whole 
day. I did not literally and strictly adhere to my plan. I 
was stopped sometimes by an irresistible attraction towards 
38 



446 JOURNAL. 

some picture, or pictures. I shall speak of one picture only, 
and which is the present attraction. It is Murillo's Miracu- 
lous Conception, lately bought at the sale of Marshal 
Soult's collection for, as I was told, 620,000 francs, — 
$124,000, or about £25,000. The Czar, it was said, was 
a competitor in the purchase. I thought it strange, after 
visiting the Hermitage, that the Emperor could consent to 
be beaten in a contest for such a prize, where mere money 
entered, or was in " the lists." This picture is the " ob- 
served of all observers." And now what is it ? I will try 
to describe it, or rather the impression it has made upon 
me, and the thought which followed. 

Mary is seen standing upon and amid clouds of glory, 
and surrounded by worshipping angels. You are struck 
with the freshness of this picture. It seems but the work 
of yesterday, finished when it was begun, — as existing 
in its integrity, in the thought, in which it had its life, — 
created, not made, — and having the sure prophecy of im- 
mortality. It is its unity, the highest end in a great work, 
in any work to which human power can attain, which to 
me is its power. There is not the smallest atom of the 
wide canvas which does not belong to all the rest. One 
atmosphere envelops and transmits all which is in it. There 
is air, pure air, here, which is the breath of its life. You 
never weary looking at it. You rather gain power ; for the 
longer is your communion with it, the clearer are its revela- 
tions, and the more conscious are you of your relations with 
the highest art, — of your moral and intellectual sympathy, 
unity, — with the mind which created it. I said the first 
impression of this picture is its perfect freshness, its life, its 
external, its objective veracity, or reality. You have not a 
doubt you are looking at the perfect in art. That it is what 
it is said to be. It speaks for and by itself; report is silent. 
I wish I could give you some notion of the force with which 
the thought is stirred within you, that you are in the pre- 
sence of a real being, when you are before this picture. I 



JOUHI^-AL. 



447 



do not say a living being, for some vagueness almost neces- 
sarily attaches to that word, though the thing itself is 
around and within us in every moment of our being. I 
prefer the word real, as expressing existence as intense as 
being can be, and in this instance of it, before us, satisfying 
you of its entire truth. You look at the figure. Here are 
body, limbs, and draperies of various kinds and colours. 
The expression of thought, — which art is. You have no 
question of all this. You are satisfied with what you see. 
You look into that face, and ask to read of the mind, the 
soul, which gives to it its intense life. Not a feature is at 
rest, — yet, not a feature moves. The colour changes as you 
look, as thought glances here and there, until the whole 
glows with intensity of consciousness, of which the human 
has taken no knowledge. The eye is filled with the story, 
and with what infinite sweetness, and with what power does 
the mouth utter its ^yord. The eye has caught its expres- 
sion, and M-hen you look again, how exquisite has been the 
transmutation. They are now one. Is not this the whole 
alchemy of art? Is not here the great discovery made? 
Who but Murillo has discovered that which has given price- 
less value to all his works, — yes, turned them all to gold ? 
Of the drapery. In this we have in Murillo the power of 
simple colour. Artists excel in particular colours, or make 
some one prominent in every picture. Correggio is exquisite 
m his blues. One artist never finished a picture without 
giving to one colour very distinct place. This was red. 
\ ou always see it ; sometimes, indeed, by no means promi- 
nent, but always visible. In the Madrid Madonna, Murillo 
has exalted blue, the colour of the principal article of dra- 
pery, through which the left arm passes, partially covered 
with gossamer white. Drapery has its fitness, its exjores- 
sion, its thought. It has its character from the being it 
clothes. 

And now what have I just written? I have endeavoured 
to give to you the impressions produced on my own mind 



448 JOIJRXAL. 

by an effort in another, to impress his own intellectual state 
and action on the canvas, by colour. I may have entirely 
failed, but I was quite willing to make the attempt. It is 
hard to work out a purely intellectual problem in speech, — 
harder in painting or sculpture, hardest in writing. Human 
testimony is, and must be, the most fallible of all things. 
The witness owes it to his eye or his ear, how perfectly an 
impression on either shall reach his mind, — then the mind, 
at the moment, may not be in a state for a true impression, 

— a true print to be made. Then the language in which he 
communicates it to another. How imperfect is language in 
itself; and then the ear or the mind of the hearer may be 
in a state wholly unfit for him to receive the impres- 
sion which the narrator designs to make, — or the truth. 
How imperfect, how uncertain, must be a description of a 
picture, or a sculpture, which, as we have seen, is but an 
attempted representation of thought upon canvas or stone. 
I wish I could give you some notion of the pleasure, — of 
the sense of perfect satisfaction, which this work has pro- 
duced in me, — which remains with so much freshness, and 
which, I trust, will remain forever. Most especially do I 
wish you were both here to see it with me. 

There is a picture here, which I knew at once, from a 
copy "in little", made of it by your uncle, W. Allston, for 
its colour, — the Marriage of Cana. Here was an old 
acquaintance in a new place, and glad was I to see it. 
Many of the persons in this picture are portraits of distin- 
guished men, artists, &c. Here were pictures of Tintoret, 
and they reminded me of the extravaganza of Fuseli, whom 
it was my pleasure and privilege to hear lecture in the 
Royal Academy in London, nearly half a century ago. 
" The stormy pencil of Tintoret swept away individual 
misery in general masses." The pictures of Salvator I saw 
with great pleasure. These pleased me, because they gave 
to me not only his manner, but the character of his mind, 

— his thougrht. Here was desolation, wildness, — nature 



JOUENAL. 449 

in a new phase, — thouglit under novel expression. Why, 
he seems to have scorned the use of ordinary means in what 
he would express, and throwing colour aside, he used the 
fewest possible, — light, and shade, it was his object to pro- 
duce, and white and black were mainly his means. The 
effects are wonderful. You might as well have looked for 
all the colours of the rainbow in the ink by which Shake- 
speare expressed his thought, as to Salvator's pallette for a 
like assemblage of colours, with which to paint Jiis nature, 
his thought. " When Dryden writes tragedy," says Dr. 
Francis, in Boswell, "declamation roars, but passion sleeps. 
When Shakespeare wrote he dipped his pen in his own 
heart." Shakespeare found but one colour there. Salvator 
hardly used more. 

Hours and days did I pass in the Louvre. What a life 
might one not pass amid the works, — the enduring lives of 
such men, in their works so piously kept there. Here they 
are. True lives written by themselves, — eternal silences, 
uttering words for all hearts, for the consolations, and 
rejoicings of all souls. The impertinences of fashion were 
left with the parasols and canes at the door, and low and 
rare whispers broke the stillness. Perhaps they made it 
deeper. And what a place for such power, — Art, — to 
act in. Immense in size, — lighted from heaven, — the 
palace of art, of a monarch who, in his wide and various 
power, rules the world, — whose empire reaches humanity 
in its whole heart, and whole mind. Do you wonder at the 
silence which is here ? Crowds are daily and hourly tread- 
ing its vast halls, and everywhere is silence. I recollect 
few things which more deeply impressed me than this form 
of homage to Art. The people had put the shoes from off 
their feet, for they were on holy ground. Now is it not well, 
such culture, such means of culture for a whole people r 
Here in Paris, — ever living, ever moving, ever cheerful 
Paris, — in its very centre, in the midst and pressure of 
fashion, pleasure, business, such as it is, — yes, here in this 
38* 



450 JOUKNAL. 

centre of all antagonisms, and attractions, is the teacher, 
the great teacher of the whole people. Here are for love and 
for reverence the relics of ages long past, and works of the 
later, and latest, — of mind and of heart, poured out like 
living waters, for the refreshing of the nations. I say 
nations, for we from thousands of miles off, have come up 
to this altar of Art, and have worshipped there as freely as 
does the more favoured child of France, or of Europe. 

VeksailI/ES. — A whole day was devoted to Versailles, 
first stopping to visit Sevres, and to see its exquisite porce- 
lain. The finest portions being made for the court, and 
with the products of the Gobelin looms, being annually 
exhibited at Christmas in the Halls of the Louvre, the 
traveller can only examine them in the places in which they 
are made. This visit was by far the most important part of 
the day's work. I went^ through Versailles, and was re- 
joiced when the labour w^as over. The water is the attrac- 
tion, but it was all dry. Nothing can be so essentially dead 
as apparatus to show the power, the life, the beauty of water, 
when the moving force is not. As to the Palaces, the Royal 
Coach-house, and the coach of Charles X., specially conse- 
crated to his use by the Bishop of Paris, were worse to me 
than 

Twice-told tales to the dull ear of a drowsy man. 

I will allude to a single corridor. It was filled with statues. 
On one side were distinguished military men, and on the 
pedestals of every one, was in large letters, Tue, — killed. 
Not one had died a natural death. It seemed that all the 
later chivalry of France was here in marble. On the other 
side were the effigies of renowned churchmen, in mitre and 
in surplice, with hands devoutly clasped on their breasts, 
their faces looking upward, as if in the sure prospect of 
immortality. A visit to a nice cafe, and a splendid drive 
back to Paris, were the most agreeable and instructive 
experiences of the day. 



JOURNAL. 451 

August — . — This was a splendid day, tlie perfection of 
weather. Early in the morning Mr. A. C, whose frequent 
kindness I shall always remember with pleasure, called on 
me, saying he should devote the day to sight-seeing, and 
asked me to take a seat in his carriage. We went together 
to the Invalids. He is interested about architecture, whether 
civil or military, and examines with excellent knowledge the 
various arrangements in buildings for domestic or public 
life. Of this I have already spoken. Our next drive was to 

Grenelle and the Artesian Well, and to the Abattoir, or 
slaughter-house, near. These were examined, — the latter 
'n\ its practical details, by my companion, — the former by 
myself, — that part of the preparation of living animal mat- 
ter for the table never having been agreeable to me. We 
next went to 

A Military Stable. — An officer was at the gate 
reading a newspaper under the shade of a tree. Sitting 
there on a low bench, in a most pleasant time of the morn- 
ing, it seemed hardly fair to disturb him by a question. 
We asked permission to go in. He asked if we had a per- 
mit from the Minister. We had not. It was then impossible, 
said the officer, to let us pass. The refusal was in the most 
courteous manner, with regrets that he could not gratify us. 
We informed him that we were citizens of the U. S. A., — 
that we had come far to see other countries, and that we 
should always deeply regret not having seen the important 
public institution at whose gates we stood. He begged us 
to wait a moment, and disappeared. In a few minutes he 
returned, and begged us to enter. In the grounds we found 
a soldier who had been detailed to wait upon us, and to 
show us the whole arrangements of the establishment. My 
most excellent companion thought my French wonderful. 

Upon entering a stable we were surprised at finding it 
perfectly light, special care having been taken to admit the 
light everywhere. The contrast between this and our own 
manner of providing for the horse, was as great as it well 



452 JOTJENAL. 

could be. With us, our horses are either kept in cellars, or 
in rooms as dark as cellars. No care is taken in building a 
stable to give it light. The eyes must be hurt by all this, 
and it is very probable that external objects frighten the 
horse because of the exaggerations under which they are 
presented in broad day, or when he leaves his cellar, or 
cellar-like stall. In another regard the national stable 
pleased us. It is thoroughly ventilated. Air is as freely 
admitted as light, and scarce any of the odour of such a 
place is perceived. And then the entire cleanness, the fresh, 
thick bed, — the clean, well washed floor. Everything 
attracted us-, and everything agreeably. The space for each 
horse was excellent. The stables, instead of being boarded 
up at the sides, a great box, with one end open, were only 
separated by a round rail, hanging by a rope between the 
horses. The mode of fastening the horse was ingenious 
and perfect. They had freedom in perfection, and yet could 
neither hurt themselves, or neighbours. Their condition 
w^as excellent. Grooming was still in progress at our visit, 
and the process was carefully watched. It was equally ex- 
tended over the whole animal, and his beautiful coat, perfect 
health, and graceful motions, showed you how excellent 
were the results of the discipline. 

There are men and states who take better care of their 
horses than of themselves or their children. We went into 
the soldiers quarters, and we could not but feel that the 
horses had much the best care. My friend was very desirous 
to see the hospital for the sick horses. We found this in 
the same admirable order of everything else. The sick 
animal had such accommodation as his disease required. 
You saw what fine animals they had been, in health, in 
their form and manner, and what care was taken to restore 
them. The horses are all numbered. This is done on a 
fore-hoof. A red hot iron with the number on it, is applied 
very near to the hair, so near that I could not but think a 
sensitive part was near the red heat. But no suffering was 



JOURNAL. 453 

manifested. As the shell grows the number advances, till 
it disappears, and numbering is again resorted to. We 
Avalked about at our entire leisure, seeing everything. As we 
left, we offered the guide money, but were told that it was 
against the rules of the place for money to be received for 
such service. We thanked the gentleman for his kind, and 
most gratifying, and useful courtesy, and the guide for his 
patient attendance, and took our leave. What a chapter is 
this our daily experience here, in national manner, entering 
as it does into the details of every-day life. How constantly 
has this been impressed upon me, and how as constantly 
has the wish accompanied it, that so much good, yes, refined 
breeding, — this deep rooted principle of accommodation to 
the wishes and wants of others, had not geographical limits, 
and could with the free air and free light, cross mountains 
and seas, and make of men and nations a brotherhood. 

But says , " Why all this talk here and else- 
where, about French courtesy ? It is so old that all heart is 
worked out of it, if it ever had any." Very well. I only 
say I am glad it has lasted so long. Peradventure it has 
become habitual, and so is safe. It has lived through cen- 
turies, varied by all sorts of changes, — survived revolutions, 
— the abuses of power, and the worser abuses of irresponsi- 
ble, sanguinary freedom. It is in all the beauty of youth 
to-day, in the Republic, — and will not bate one jot of its 
freshness, in the Empire of to-morrow. Yes, courtesy, 
kindness, — and all associated with these, are old to France, 
and have sure record. I am glad to-day to give my testi- 
mony, however feeble, to it, and to its power. " But there is 
no heart in it." Very well. There is something quite as 
good as heart, if the two things differ. There is in this 
people a clear recognition of human relations, and hence, of 
human duty. Their own pleasure, and how much may and 
do they enjoy ? their ov>m pleasure is increased by pleasing 
you. It is its own reward. The kindest offices, and from 
those too, Vvdiosc means of living arc small, are not paid for, 
(at least, I have never been charged for them ;) and refusal 



454 JOUEXAL. 

has always come to offers of pecuniary return. Others may 
have had different experience in regard to these matters. I 
give ni)'- own, and these have been quite frequent enough to 
allow me to say that if there be no heart in such offices, 
they have that in them which answers quite as well. 

Says another, " this vaunted national courtesy, and its 
adjuncts, are the products of despotism, — of a rule which 
reaches to everything, and which cannot with impunity be 
violated. " Very well, again. Freedom without its limita- 
tions, may be as hostile to true national character as is des- 
potism. The citizen who has no check in the rule which he 
claims it to be his right to exercise, may be as great a tyrant 
as he who governs subjects, and who wears a diadem. He 
is beyond that law to which all men should be subjected, — 
that law which recognizes the true freedom of all other men. 
A state may be rude, coarse, vulgar. It may be sensitive, 
quarrelsome, overreaching, — it may be wholly disagreeable, 
— just as a man may be. It is questionable if despotism 
would make such a nation, any more than a man, good man- 
nered, or good natured. Power can, and does establish public 
peace, by making every individual within its rule strictly, 
and immediately, responsible for his conduct. Thus we have 
seen that in Russia, laws relating to conduct in certain cases 
secure the general and individual comfort and safety. We 
have seen that everybody is allowed to drive through the 
streets just as fast as he pleases, and all the horses and men 
aiefast. The streets are very wide. But if a man is care- 
less as well as rapid, and injures person or property, his own 
property is at once taken from him, and he severely punished. 
As soon, therefore, as carriage or person is injured, he who 
has done the injury leaves his carriage, — cart, wagon, as it 
may be, and flies for dear life. He does not stop to curse 
you for being in his way, while you have done all that you 
could to avoid him ; or having ridden over you, drives along 
just as quietly, as unconcernedly, as if he had knocked over 
a dog, feeling pretty sure that " no blame " will be returned, 
whatever may be the inquest. 



JOUENAL. 455 

Chamber of Deputies. — Our next visit was to the 
Chamber of Deputies. This much pleased us. Mr. C, who 
has a practised eye for architecture, examined such portions 
of the building as were visited. We were struck with the 
prevalent simplicity in its structure and finish. No show, 
— no attempt at mere ornamentation. Harmony prevails 
alike in the general plan and in matters of detail. The 
w^hole effect was of dignity, — severe propriety. In form, 
it is a semicircle, which secures easy hearing and seeino- from 
the Tribune on which speakers used to stand, when address- 
ing the Deputies. I took the Prince President's chair, and 
rose to address the Chamber. It was perfectly empty. Our 
guide and ourselves the whole auditory. I spoke the first 
sentence of a speech. Our guide, an old soldier, listened 
with becoming attention. There is no disturbing echo. 
You feel that your voice goes everywhere, but never returns. 
I have spoken in many halls, but never before in one which 
so well answered the purpose of public speaking. The Tri- 
bune is abolished, — or its place is used by the clerks of the 
Chamber. The members speak from their seats. These are 
fitted with dark red velvet, and are plain but comfortable. 
No arrangements for writing, as desks or tables. By this 
plan less room is required by the Deputies. All are within 
hearing of each other. A very small gallery in front of the 
President will accommodate a few spectators. The rooms 
around or near the Chamber, are as well fitted for their pur- 
poses, as committee rooms, conference rooms, &c., as is the 
Chamber for its objects. The post-ofiice is well arranged, 
and placed. It occupies a portion of the wall of a commit- 
tee room, and consists of as many pigeon holes as there are 
members, each numbered. A member at a glance learns 
if there be any letter or journal for him. There is the 
king's room with a chair of state. Everything being as 
sternly simple here, as elsewhere. Statues, neither numerous 
nor obtrusive, are about, and some pictures. I stood near 
where was the old Tribune. I stood, as the guide said, near 



456 JOUBNAL. 

or in the place in which Napoleon once stood, a young man, 
a young officer, with the regicides and sans-culottes about 
him, — Robespierre among the rest, who, with clenched fists, 
and infuriated words, were threatening him as the enemy of 
liberty. Altogether, we agreed that this place, the Chamber 
of Deputies, stood among the most important places in 
which we had been. It belongs to periods of history not to 
be forgotten ; and in and through all times it has stood in 
its severe dignity unhurt, and was still the scene of all of 
free constitutional government which remains to France. 

Hotel d'Ville. — Next, we drove to the Hotel d'Ville, 
the mansion house, the seat of government of the munici- 
pality of Paris. We were not long detained here. 

Gobelins. — Here are made those tapestries which are the 
admiration of the world. A little formality is gone through 
with before you enter. The stranger is asked for his passport, 
and this admits him. I shall not undertake any formal de- 
scription of this work. It consists in copying pictures of all 
kinds in different coloured threads, and so perfect is the exe- 
cution, that in some lights you v/ould certainly think you were 
looking on the smooth surface of a painting. If the work 
be opposite a window, so that the light falls directly upon 
it, the deception is perfect. The work is seen in the clearest 
manner. There is none of that glare and confusion from 
reflected light, as happens when an oil painting has the 
same position in regard to a window. On the contrary, the 
light is all absorbed, and the whole is seen most perfectly. 
Now place a tapestry copy of a painting at a rigid angle 
with a window, in an alcove, for instance, so that the light 
shall sweep by or over it instead of falling on it, as when 
opposite a window, and the whole resemblance to a painting, 
the whole deception is lost. The threads now cast shadows, 
and everything is obscured. I saw this many, many times 
before I could explain it. The effect depends on the mode 
in which the light reaches the tapestry, whether directly or 
at an angle. But when seen, as such works should be, under 



jounxAL, 457 

the aspect of direct light which makes a shadow impossible, 
nothing can be more beautiful. The resemblance to the 
living human skin is perfect. As that in its perfection ab- 
sorbs light, so does the tapestry imitation of the skin, and 
you cannot at first believe you are looking on anything but 
the thing itself. In every department of the art is the 
success great. From the down on an angel's wing, to that 
on a peach, or most exquisite flower, the tapestry gives 
you the Avhole. I saw how it is made, and so slight seems the 
art, so readily is it done, that it seems no art at all. There 
is the warp, and the woof comes to it so naturally that 
it almost seems less than mechanical. You see minute lines 
in motion, and in various directions, and in time an embryo 
figure begins to appear, — the prophetic initiative of some 
marvellous form. These works are often of great size. The 
original from which the weaver copies rests on an edge of its 
frame behind him, and he turns to copy it. Men only were 
seen at work in any of the departments. The preparation 
of the threads, — of the bobbins, — the arrangement of 
colours, — all are done by men. You pass through all the 
works, and have full opportunity for all such examinations 
as you may desire. Carpets were made in one room with 
the figures, and all they represent worked in precisely as the 
tapestries are. I was delighted with all I saw, and went 
away a little weary of so long a morning's work. 

Pere la Chaise. — Our morning was not yet completed. 
We began with the Ahattoir^ the slaughter-house ; and 
ended with the Fere la Chaise, the place of graves. This 
city of the dead is some distance from the Gobelins, and we 
had time for rest. The term city is well applied. The 
place is filled with miniature houses, built of various kinds 
of stone, with a half glazed door opening into a minute 
room, often with a chair or bench, or an altar-like construc- 
tion, covered with the symbols of the Catholic Church, — 
the Virgin, — the Child, — the Cross, — the candle, — 
flowers. I cannot say that the eff'ect was agreeable. 1 was 
89 



458 JOURNAL. 

not conscious of any very perfect impression made by the 
place. It was so artificial, that sentiment had no place in 
the visit. It was a question of mere taste we were called 
on to settle, not one of feeling at all. Garlands made of 
yellow flowers, were abundant. Some of these w^ere fresh. 
Others were decayed. What was touching was to see friends 
with these garlands, or fresh flowers, in the pathway to a 
tomb, there to lay these emblems of a deep heart-sad- 
ness, which, though it would not reach the dead, might 
minister some consolation to the living. Quite often were 
these friends on their mission of love here, and you did, 
when they passed by, feel that there were sad and desolate 
places in your own heart, to which these memorials of the 
stranger were related ; and if there were sighs, there was 
also consolation. This strange world of ours, and its expe- 
riences, are of all hues. While I stood or sat in Pere la 
Chaise, and the friends of the dead were walking hurriedly to 
their tombs, as if they were impatient of any longer separa- 
tion, there were funerals entering its melancholy gates. 
I stood still, and the body of a young girl was brought near 
me. The hearse was white with its draperies ; and flowers 
were its dressing. There was something very touching in 
this. The friends, the father and others, carried the body 
gently from the hearse. The little door was opened, and 
the cofiin put into its resting place. Men stood uncovered, 
and so did we of that distant home, and the priest, and the 
procession passed by. I saw four other funerals in rapid 
succession afterwards. These, like the first, were all of 
children. Some were of very, very poor people ; others were 
of the rich. Death knows no distinctions. 

We left Pere la Chaise, and soon reached our resting 
place in Rue Rivoli. 



JOURNAL. 459 

SOUTH OF FRANCE AND SPAIN. 

Madrid. August 14th. — Left Paris, August 8, at eight 
A. M., for Spain, and I am now here after six days and 
nights weary travel, at the Fonda Peninsulares, in the Calle 
de Alcala. Our drive was by rail and by diligence. 

I took a seat in the banquette before leaving France, and 
for the whole passage to Madrid. For my courier I took a 
seat in the interieure, so that by changing with him, I 
secured fine prospects by day, and some rest at night. 

But why this uninterrupted travel ? Unless you secure a 
seat through, you may meet with much discomfort. You 
may be obliged to stop at some place where you only meant 
to rest, perhaps among the mountains, till the next diligence 
arrives. If it be full, — a common thing, — you must wait 
for the next, which wil] not arrive till the next day. A 
writer says, two months have passed before a seat could be 
obtained. You may not be able to get post horses, and wait 
you must. 

The diligence is in its perfection in the south of France 
and Spain. In the latter, so hard is the mountain service, 
it gets its true character. This is strength. In Spain, a dili- 
gence looks like a man-of-war upon wheels, — a two-decker. 
The lowest is divided into three cabins, — the upper, into 
two. The living cargo is stowed into the three lower 
cabins, and the front upper one. Luggage, and sometimes 
certain of the crew, fill the other upper deck cabin, — a 
most wretched place, without window or door, — the entrance 
being a narrow hole, which runs across the deck. Such is 
our land ship, — quite as like a sea one, as any camel of the 
desert. I was in the front parlour, — upper deck, — and 
for seeing, the best place. It is very high, and except 
when we had a ladder, it was as much as I and Charles 
together could do, to get me into my eyry. 

The incidents of travel through France, were few. I saw 
some carrier pigeons start from a station with despatches for 



460 JOTJUNAL. 

Paris, and shall not forget the rushing sounds of their 
wings, and how rapid was their flight. They were out of 
sight almost at once. The palace of imprisonment of Abel 
del Kader, the chief of certain uncivilized people, whom 
civilized Europe has conquered, — this prison is on our 
road. My fellow travellers were the courier, and four boys, 
going home to Bourdeaux for the vacation. They belonged 
to a military school. They were fine boys, full of life and 
of fun, and vying with each other to make the journey 
pleasant. They insisted upon my taking the best seat for 
seeing the country, and extended their courtesy to Charles. 
Then their supplies were abundant. They were fruit, bread, 
cold meat, — butter, wine, &c., &c., and they never took 
food without pressing us to take part with them. They 
were with us two days. They gave me lessons in French, 
and I returned the service by instruction in English. They 
were very communicative, and gave me much information 
concerning their school. Their friends were at the Bour- 
deaux station, and the meeting was truly French. 

The country everywhere is highly cultivated, and the sure 
evidence of success is in the mighty harvesting which is by 
the way, and on the way home. I should delight to stop 
and give you some sketches of this exquisite country where 
man and nature have laboured together, and where the 
produce of such a union lies in measureless profusion around 
you. Then, again, the dwelling places of the people, — the 
village with its nice cottages, and the city with everything 
to make it desired. I wandered about Bourdeaux, Poitiers, 
and Angouleme, and only regretted that I could not stay 
longer. And then the country, — flow^ers, shrubs, fruit- 
trees, and vines everywhere, — over houses as well as land. 
Comfort, — real, visible comfort comes out of every thing, 
and every place. Never w^as fruit so priceless, and never 
was it cheaper. I must give you some account of the grape 
culture, and the appsarance of a vineyard. The grape vine 
grows on short and very thick stocks, produced by annually 



JOITRNAL. 461 

cutting down the whole growth of the preceding year. 
From this dark, rough, and rugged parent, springs upon 
all sides the delicate, graceful child, and you can hardly find 
anything more beautiful. The young leaf is translucent, 
and the passage of the light through it, shows you much of 
its internal structure. I know of no leaf which has the 
characters of this, and I never saw these so perfectly dis- 
played as in the specimens everywhere around me within 
arms reach. It was a precious time to see all this wonder 
of vegetable life, showing itself in every growing thing. 
There were gentle showers ; and then the sun came out, not 
scorching hot, but as if he had cooled himself in the rain. 
His light was never brighter, and it came to you in diamond 
brightness from the moist grape leaf, and in crystal drops 
from the roadside trees. The vine, in its natural state, has 
a wild, graceless form. The accumulated wood of years 
absorbs most of its nourishment, and small and poor is the 
product. But give it something which shall support it, 
after you have cut its parent stalk down, and you will see 
with what freedom and grace it will use the substitute for 
the natural, and throwing itself out on all sides as far as 
it dare, will produce forms and fruit which will surprise 
and delight you. In " my notes by the way," " how 
beautiful," occurs too often to allow you to question what 
I felt and enjoyed in this beautiful country, — this beautiful 
France. 

In driving through woodland, the trees demand your 
notice. There was one which specially attracted me. The 
sycamore, — our button-wood. I was glad to see my old 
acquaintance again. It is in perfect health. The disease 
which has blasted and killed so many of its brethren in 
America, has not reached them here. The new white or 
fawn-colored bark is absolutely splendent in its un wrinkled 
polish, — while the pale green, or bluish-gray patches were 
as clear, and as clean, as a fresh washed vine-leaf. Nothing 
you have seen of change in surface and colours of the bark 
39* 



462 JOURNAL. 

of our button-wood can give you the least idea of the appear- 
ance of the same here. It is the Merry Andrew, — the very 
harlequin of the forest, and absolutely sparkles amongst its 
sober neighbours. Many trees were marked, — the soft 
wood trees, — not the button- wood, however. This mark 
consists in removing a narrow strip of bark high up on the 
trunk, and coming down to the ground. But for what I 
did not learn. From its manner, and frequency, it evidently 
has some special object. 

In Clan, if I name the village correctly, and not far from 
Poitiers, was a fete in progress. A large number of villa- 
gers had collected in a grove, and rarely have I seen a 
merrier company. There was music, and dancing, — and 
doubtless refreshments, — and a grand time was in hand. 
As the train stopped, some of the comjmny took seats, and 
among these were nicely dressed persons, and evidently not 
of the class of peasants. They seemed to have taken hearty 
part in the Sunday fete. You ask, " Why were they not at 
church?" They had been there, in the early morning, to 
Mass, while you and others slumbered and slept ; and in 
the early worship had fulfilled, to their minds, the whole 
law, — and now they were making of the Sabbath, a day of 
rest, — a holiday. 

At another station there was merchandise. Women, of 
course, were the merchants, and the articles, were cutlery. It 
is illegal to carry concealed weapons. Here they were, with 
other things, on open sale. Here were knives of all kinds, 
— with forks, and without, — with one blade, and number- 
less blades, concealed, and open, — razors, dirks, daggers, — 
in short, in little, much of the material of war. They were 
highly finished, and, for their appearance and uses, were 
cheap. The sellers offered you their wares, quietly, and 
courteously ; and not to buy, was not to offend. 

Bayonne. Aug. llth. — Here I passed the night at the 
Hotel St. Etienne, and was made perfectly comfortable by 



JOURNAL. 463 

dinner and supper in one, — an excellent bed, and good 
water for many uses. Arrangements for next day's travel 
were among my courier's most important offices, and at this 
point of our journey, required promptness and skill. Rose 
early, which gave leisure for a ramble. The Cathedral was, 
of course, visited. It is a grand old building, undergoing 
external repairs, but which did not at all interfere with the 
early service of the church. In America, repairs of churches 
always stop worship. A church was closed for the summer 
months. I asked why? " To beat out the moths, and to 
cover the cushions," was the reply. The sexton was a 
humourist. Next to the market. This was perfectly 
arranged, and the absence of the owners of fruit, vegetables, 
&^^, at Mass, did not lessen the safety of what they had 
IdCt for prayer. I saw no police. Yesterday I had a rare 
sight, — the wide sea. So near did its waves break on the 
beech along which was our road, that the spray almost 
reached us. Our morning drive gave us glimpses of the 
Pyrenees. At times Ave could make out forms, — pinnacled, 
serrated, — rounded. Sometimes a single peak, grander for 
its loneliness. We had occasionally rain and mist, — and 
then the bright sun, making variety without end, and 
from its characters, always welcome. 

Spain and People. — My first acquaintance with Span- 
iards was after leaving Bayonne, — in my companions of the 
banquette. Before I had passed the boundary between 
France and Spain, I perceived a marked difference between 
the two races. It began to rain, and the windows being not 
water tight, the rain soon began to trouble us. I had a 
thick overcoat. My companions none. So, instead of 
putting on my coat, I spread it over our several laps, so as 
to protect the three exactly, but not a word was said of 
thanks, or pleasure, and when the rain stopped, and I took 
possession of my wet coat, no word, nor intimation of one. 
I tried another experiment. I brought some nice chocolate 
from Paris, and when eating some, I offered my supply to 



464 JOURNAL. 

them. They took it, but not a word. I next tried cigars, 
with the conductor and a passenger, and repeated the experi- 
ment. They took and smoked them, but not a word of thanks, 
or sign of being pleased. I have noticed the same thing else- 
where in Spain, A writer says, '• He who expects gratitude, 
deserves ingratitude." I agree with this writer perfectly. 
I do nothing, so far as I am conscious of motives in con- 
duct, with a view to return. But it is very grateful to have 
your effort to please another, in some way felt, or expressed. 
If it affects not you at all, it is well for another to be con- 
scious of kindness attempted, or kindness done. I declare that 
the manners of France, in this regard, won me at once. I 
was glad to be amidst so much courtesy, so much expression, 
yes, beautiful expression, of pleasure received. We ap- 
proached a narrow river, Bidasoa, and over the middle plank 
of the bridge which crossed it, we, having left the diligence, 
stepped from France into Spain. The Spanish frontier town 
is Irun, a small place with a post-house, where horses were 
changed and luggage examined. I was in the banquette 
up high in the air, and there I meant to stay. But the gens 
d' amies, or customs officer, willed it otherwise, and having 
examined my passport, sent Charles to say that I must come 
to the office. So down I went, a most perilous descent, I 
assure you, and having been seen, got a bow, and a hint to 
get up again. I commiserated a banquette companion who 
meant to stay in it. He sent word he was lame, one leg 
being much longer than the other. Charles kindly carried 
his message. " Tell him," said the officer, " I want to see 
his short leg." So down he went by cruel instalments, the 
last the longest, — and having satisfied Spain, (he was a 
Spaniard,) he halted up again. I recollected our White 
Mountain trip, when some of the party preferred the top of 
the coach, and what a time you had (for I had no such 
preference) in getting up and down. If you had been with 
me here on the frontier of Spain, you might have indulged 
your airy fancies at your leisure. I went into the house 



jounNAL. 465 

where luggage was undergoing the martyrdom of a govern- 
ment search. One had a box of tools, nicely packed to 
prevent injury. They were all turned out, envelopes pulled 
off, and when all sorts of things were done to excruciate 
the owner, a rule was put inside the box, — then outside, 
to learn if there might not be a false bottom in which the 
contraband were hid. The owner hurried up Lis tools, and 
then his wardrobe, for his trunk had been as thoroughly 
turned inside out, and in haste huddled tools, and shirts, 
&c., &c., back again. There was a woman who deserved a 
better fate. She had a very bad cough, — was emaciated, 
and very feeble. Her luggage was large. It was all pulled 
to pieces of course, and, among other things, certain small 
bottles were detected. What were these ? They were 
medicines for her cough. The question was of duties. But 
after an appeal to her wretched cough, — weakness, — and 
pain, — the officer concluded to let her drugs pass without 
duty. And now came the tug to get everything back again. 
The impossible was at length accomplished, and the poor 
thing with her luggage was again stowed away in the ready 
diligence. How hot was the day. Many offered and tried 
to help the exhausted woman. But she had been harshly 
treated, and refused aid. 

St. Sebastian. — We continued our drive for this 
place. Every hour brought us nearer and nearer to the 
city. It lies at the foot of a mountain, on the top of which 
is an extensive fortress. It appeared of great strength. 
Her3 were the English troops landed in the Peninsular 
War. The foot of the mountain is washed by the Bay of 
Biscay, and here is built the city very regularly, and painted 
white, is in strong contrast with the deep blue sea. We dined 
here, and so pleasant was it, that I was strongly inclined to 
stop, and at leisure visit the surrounding region. But the 
weather was so fine, — the Pyrenees on all sides tempting 
one away, that I cheerfully obeyed the powers above and 
around, and left for the hard service before us. In the post- 



466 JOUENAL. 

yard was my old acquaintance, the diligence, but presenting 
new features. The principal was the outfit of animals. 
There seemed no end to the array. I counted nine mules 
and four horses, a postilion on one of the forward ones. 
Each mule has a ring of bells. The starting was an event. 
I was at my old post, the banquette, and looking down upon 
these mules and horses, the prospect was novel indeed. The 
starting was an affair. We were to turn a very short corner 
of the quadrangle, which the bordering four sides of the 
post-house made, and the length of team and coach seemed 
endless. A crowd was in the yard. We took the diagonal 
of the square, or rather parallelogram, for a sufficient dis- 
tance, then the leaders wheeled towards the passage to the 
street. As soon as the turn was made, the whip uttered its 
voice, and after a manner only known to these foreign 
whips. Then came voice of driver and conductor, scream- 
ing antar, antar, in every possible variety of intonation. 
I never before heard such unearthly noises. I wish I could 
give you some notion of the pronunciation of this Spanish 
word, which means "go." The whole strain of voice was 
upon the last syllable. It seemed that every sound which 
uses the tongue and teeth in its utterance, was called into 
exaggerated use, — and made you start to hear it. It had 
a spiteful intensity, and I really think if those who uttered 
it had worn false teeth, the whole pressure of the atmos- 
phere would not have sufficed to keep them in their places. 
Away went mules and horses at a full gallop. As we 
reached the street many boys with long rods joined in 
chorus, running fast enough to keep up with the mules, and 
beating them as they flew. Everybody took interest in us, 
as if such a drive had never happened before, and did their 
most and best to press the animals on. You would have 
supposed no carriage in the wide world would have stood 
such discipline, or could have kept straight. I was never so 
excited before, and roared with laughter at the wild scene. 
On we drove until the beginning of a mountain pass made it 



JOURNAL. 467 

impossible to drive further. The long array came down to 
a walk, and we began the passage of the Pyrenees. These 
are not the highest mountains in Europe. Still they are 
high enough to affect you after the manner of the most lofty. 
You never see the same twice. Their power is in their 
variety, — their number, or extent, — their arrangement. 
Each tells its story, and then recedes to give place to another. 
The interlacing which comes of such materials produces 
grand effects, and infinite confusion. You see no way of 
escape, and feel as if you were to be a prisoner there forever. 
The road takes water courses, and valleys from which 
the water has long receded, or has found new channels. 
The effect of your position in such portions of the road is 
to add to the apparent height of the mountains, and this 
soon is the real one. You are now on the edge of a stream, 
and now on a shelf dug out of the side of a mountain. The 
danger seems imminent, first, from the number and shortness 
of the curves ; and second, from the length, the wilfulness, 
or slipping of the team. When the diligence with its 
immense length is added to the mules and horses, it seems 
absolutely impossible that you can succeed, I sat on the 
top of the coach looking with the deepest interest upon the 
heights, the depths, and surroundings of the scene. Now 
and then, and without our anticipating such a change, the 
mountains will separate, — seem to clear away, as do clouds, 
and you come to where the earth and sky are again visible, 
with vast reaches of mountains before you. Here is smooth 
earth, and rich culture, and shrubs, trees, and flowers, cot- 
tages, or larger houses, — a perfect oasis in the mountain 
desert. You rejoice at all this, but a change comes, and 
you again enter an inextricable labyrinth. You have your 
life in mountains. You travel days and do not lose them. 
It is not like a lofty and wide ridge, separating countries, or 
portions of states. They make up, so to speak, the staple 
of the country, and which will be its forever. From St. 
Sebastian to the Guadarama, which makes the mountain 



468 Joun^AL. 

horizon of Madrid, you are hourly among tliese mighty 
associates, and never escape their power. At first we Avere 
no higher than vegetation reached, trees, shrubs, ferns, grass, 
&c. This could not last, and then the continued ascent of 
the Pyrenees. At first the ascent was moderate. Then 
it grew steeper and steeper. The road passed over nearly 
horizontal, or rather spiral inclined planes, so slightly raised 
sometimes that it scarcely seemed to be ascending, and then 
so short, making such perfect horizontal oxbows that you 
could see across from one, and down and into another, when 
a descent occurred, and now it seemed absolutely impossible 
for you to reach it from your isolated position. I asked 
again and again, " Is that a part of our road ? Does this 
we are on belong to it? How are we to reach it ? " The 
effect was curious. It was of travelling an endless circle of 
road, always returning upon itself, and, of course, without 
end. The progress w-as very slow, mist and rain made the 
atmosphere, and at times it seemed hardly possible that the 
team could keep their feet, or advance another step. It 
crawled on. The diligence groaned, and creaked, heavily 
swaying hither and thither as the surface of the road 
changed. A summit level w^as at length reached. The 
wheels were carefully dragged by the break, and we began to 
descend. This was rapid and safe, and we now went on for 
a time as before our ascent. 

"When things seemed at their very worst in the mountain 
passage just described, I thought of you. I thought of you 

both. I saw you, Miss , in the coupe close in 

the corner with your eyes closed as tight as eyelids can do 
it; and then your fingers, in addition, pressing the poor 
eyelids tight into your very head. I ask a question. " Oh 
don't — don't say a word. I cannot look up. I won't look up, 
don't speak." In the other corner is Miss — - — . She looks 
pretty white. Her eyes are wide open, seeing all before 
her, and a little more. When a wheel horse fell, — heavens ! 
was uttered with an emphasis, — not a word more. I spoke, 



JOUKNAL. 469 

— no reply. She never ceased to look, no matter what was 
threatened. She was as calm as " hope in despair." And 
w^hen it v/as all over, the colour rushed back to her cheeks 
again. She covered her face with her hands for a moment ; 
then withdrew them, and breathed freely. This was all 
in my mind, and I believe would have actually happened if 
you both had been with me. 

The Mule. — The traveller in the banquette has ample 
opportunity to observe the management of the team before 
him. The mule, upon whose conduct safety especially 
depends, is at all times an object of great interest to the 
traveller, to his owner, and driver. From my window here 
in Madrid, I daily see how much he is cared for. He is now 
undergoing the operation of dipping. Except where the 
slight harness touches the skin, every hair is cut off, and a 
more naked, wretched looking wight than a recently clipped 
mule, I do not remember. There seems to be nothing more 
left of him than a most thin skin, and the skeleton frame 
upon which it is tightly stretched. How the shears escape 
hips and ribs, I cannot imagine. The body of a mule is 
remarkably compressed, or flattened laterally, so that look- 
ing down upon his spine, he is the flattest or sharpest quad- 
ruped going. The disposition, the morale of the mule, 
partakes of his physical narrowness. He is never alone on 
the draft, among the mountains. He cannot be trusted. 
You are never sure from minute to minute how he will 
behave himself. To give character to the team, nearest the 
wheels we have two horses, and on the lead the same num- 
ber, that is, when horses and mules are used in company. 
The exception is made, because among these mountains we 
saw one day a diligence, — somewhat misnamed indeed, 
in this instance, — drawn by eight oxen, and I have rarely 
seen that gentle and industrious race, harder worked. We 
were constantly at points of descent of most threatening 
character. The wheels were as closely dragged as possible, 
to prevent rotation, and down we went, scraping as we 
40 



470 JOURNAL. 

went. So steep were passes now and then, that the wheel 
horses, loosely harnessed behind as they are, made right 
angles with the pole. Upon one of the most embarrassing 
spots, one of the horses was brought to his haunches, and 
was scraped along with the diligence. From my eyry this 
was no pleasant prospect, I assure you. For a time my 
eyes left the Sierra, and were painfully bent upon the earth 
beneath me. It was in such moments as these that the 
mules declared their power. The postilion sat at rest on 
his saddle, simply guiding his horse. The mule picked his 
way, as if the loose stones, among which was his doubtful 
navigation, were eggs. He has a very small, clean, delicate 
hoof, and you see that he is putting it down with as firm 
and as wise a will as if everything depended on him. And 
upon him everything does depend. He is not in the least 
governed, directed, or checked, by the driver. The reins 
are all loose. The mule pays no regard to the wheel 
horses, whether on haunch or hoof, — scraping or walking. 
His head is directed to the ground, and to places in which 
his feet may be the most usefully placed. Down, down, we 
go. The danger looks the greater by every step. The 
v/eight of the enormous coach increases by every new foot 
of descent. We are soon to turn a curve shorter than rail- 
way ever knew, and we do turn it. The postilion is lost 
sight of. The mules, pair after pair, disappear, till at length 
the pass is accomplished. In an instant the wheel brake is 
driven back, and the whole team springs into life, a full 
gallop succeeding to the long snail-drag by which we had 
made the descent. Conductor and driver now scream antar, 
antar, again. The whip flies. On, on we go, with an 
intensity of life and motion, never, never before witnessed 
by me. We take breath, ~ a long breath, — and enjoy to 
the fullest extent the change. 

It is on level, or nearly level ground, the mule shows his 
true character. Here is no occasion for skill or Avisdom in 
motion, and he will do and go just as he pleases. There is 



JOURNAL. 471 

no harmony of action. Each does just what he likes. He 
indulges himself with a sluggish, stupid, gravity of motion, 
which has in-it not the least care for himself or others. He 
gets lashed, and his naked skin feels every touch of the 
whip. But you don't hurry him at all. His heels and his 
hind quarters maybe jerked upwards into the air ; or he 
may protrude himself laterally from his mate, or the two 
may s]3ring in a thousand directions at the same time. 
They will kick, try to bit 2. In short, the variety of re- 
sources to do nothing, is more remarkably possessed by the 
mule, than by any other beast of burden or motion in my 
memory. He knows every word the conductor says to him, 
but sticks up his naked lank tail with a " d — me, I wont," 
which the human brute can hardly equal. But what an 
useful creature is this same obstinate mule. He may always 
be relied upon, however perverse. How richly does he 
deserve memory and gratitude from him w^ho has crossed 
the Pyrenees under his unfailing, wise care. Were I poet- 
ical, I would sing the praises of the mule. The night 
comes, and we sleep as we may. 

The morning broke, and brought with it new scenery. 
We had passed out of vegetation, and the m.ountains were 
naked rocks. Everywhere, but upon the road, the earth 
was covered with the debris of disintegrated rocks. I had 
seen this process of rock-waste on the Elbe and Danube. 
Here are fractures of vast rock, in place, where human 
agency could hardly have been exerted. The fracture is as 
straight as if the rock had been artificially split and trim- 
med. I suppose this may be thus explained. A long 
mass of rock is equally supported. Gradually the support 
at one end is wasted away. The weight remaining causes 
fracture, and separation. 

The change in a night, from heavy forests, and lesser 
growths, to almost entire nakedness, was striking. Culti- 
vation became less and less, until it disappeared. In other 
places the earlier harvests were in, or on the way of removal. 



472 joirRNAL. 

The muzzled ox was treading out tlie corn here, — donkeys 
there. Heavy sleds were used in another place. Elsewhere 
winnowing was completing the labour of the year. Looking 
at the land from which the harvest was taken, it seemed 
hardly possible that what was so unpromising, could have 
grown so much. Trees were rare. The road-side herbage 
was gone. The earth was burnt up, and yellow vestiges of 
vegetable life, with sand, gravel, or clay, only remained. 
Variety is everywhere. The mountain with its desolation, 
— the valley with its culture. The abundant harvest, with 
apparently so little growth. Man, and his habitation, with 
all social appliances, where a moment before nature in her 
nakedness, and barrenness, had nothing for gift, or for hope. 
There is an infinite interest in such a region to one who has 
lived in the midst and pressure of human conventions, and 
artificialities, and whose mind, heart and life, have been all 
devoted to their sure preservation. " And what better use 
of them, pray ? " 

Post Towns, — Houses and People. ^ — After getting 
into less mountainous districts, we come upon villages, ham- 
lets, people. The appearance of things differs entirely from 
what you see in France. The houses are of dark brown, or 
dirt-coloured stone, without glass in the windows, or shut- 
ters, — with iron gratings, or bars across, more like prisons 
than dwellings, for well-behaved families. Pigs, mules, 
hens, all sorts of things are in these houses, and with these, 
men, women, and children. The streets are just wide 
enough for the diligence to pass, if it keep the deep worn 
rut of mud, water, and loose stones. Everything was out 
of repair. There seemed no reason for repair. There was 
no work seen. No use of the hand, but with the distaff". 
An old woman with a distaff" was the complement of the 
current industry. Poverty was everywhere, and in numbers 
unequalled by my observation. These places were like 
deserted regions, or inhabited only by those wdio could not 
run away. 



JOUKNAL. 473 

Looking at these places from a little distance, you hardly 
know what you are looking at. A mass of reddish brown 
somewhat, having a form, lies tefore you. Of its nature, 
you know nothing. Not a tree is near. Barrenness is every- 
where. Nothing gives the smallest notion of life, and least 
of all, of human life. I have seen and walked through, 
and around many of these places, but how life endures in 
them, I know not. I said there is no glass. Paper some- 
times has its place. But a board or two is most frequently 
used to stop the window holes in houses. I have passed by 
them night after night, but never have I seen a light in one 
of them. Charles V., in his progress to the monastery of 
St. Yuste, in which, after his abdication, he spent his life, 
and in which he had his fun^'al before he died, — Charles 
suffered much during his journey from cold, as there was 
no glass in the windows of the houses in which he stopped. 
He gave orders to have the windows glazed. Now, as I 
was not in pursuit of Cloister life, and was not an Emperour, 
I took patiently the lot of travel, and found, in departures 
from conventions, what I might have lost in slavery to 
them. " Why not stay there then ? " 

The churches partake of the general decay. They have 
little architectural pretension. They are of stone, as are all 
other buildings. The stone is often crumbling, discoloured, 
— and thus showing indifference concerning everything. 
The Crosses by the road side are as much neglected as are 
the churches, and in all states and stages of decay. You 
pass by and through cities, which strikingly differ from these 
wretched villages. Vittoria is one, and so is Burgos. 

ViTTOKiA. — This city stands on a hill, and shows to 
great advantage. Except the mountain regions, and which 
form so much of the North of Spain, the table lands are 
remarkably level. I do not think the surface of Russia is 
more remarkable for this formation than is Spain. You 
see all around you an open country. It is in parts, like 
40* 



474 JOUEXAL. 

our prairies. I have seen a very large, apparently princely 
residence, vvdthout wall, fence, trees, or shrubs, stand- 
ing out alone upon vast reaches of land, with scarcely an 
inequality of surface, as if built in defiance of all the aspira- 
tions, or present enjoyments of such establishments. The 
roads are as open as if the surrounding region were one 
great common. You are much struck with this nakedness on 
approaching some large city. A wide waste introduces you 
to a large and crowded city. It is naked on all its bor- 
ders. There are no suburbs. The dead level enables you 
to see much of what it contains, — its highest Avorks, as 
churches, — as you approach. There are no inequalities 
to obstruct vision. But you get no notion of its extent, so 
that you hardly believe you aTe in the close neighbourhood 
of a great city, until you are actually in its streets. Yitto- 
ria is a striking exception to all this. You are glad to see 
a city which is on a hill, and cannot be hid. Burgos also 
stands well. Vittoria is seen long before you reach it. Its 
white houses under a bright sun show admirably. The 
church spires glow with light ; and the dark mountain back- 
ground increases the perfectness of the vision. We stopped 
to dine, and I had time to walk about the city. As is my 
wont, I went to the market-place, or square. The women 
were at their baskets of fruit, and I got a store for the 
solace of the weary hours the night would soon bring with 
it. 

Our approach to Yittoria is remembered. It was the 
finest day of a Spanish summer. The profound, deep blue, 
almost ebony sky, reminded me of Humboldt's description 
of the sky of the Andes. It was totally unlike any sky 
seen by me before. There was not a cloud upon its mag- 
nificent face. It was past noon, and the sun was never 
more generous of his richest rays. The road's surface, 
slightly curved, was of a yellowish colour, and as smooth as 
the approach to the finest English country place. Upon its 
whole length was not the smallest loose stone. In the draft 



JOURXAL. 475 

were six light dapple gray horses, three abreast, — in per- 
fect condition, their coats as smooth as silk, and not a hair 
turned. Such a team I do not recollect. Their small hol- 
low hoofs struck the firm earth in such harmony, that you 
might suppose them at drill ; wdiile the sound of each coin- 
cident step was as clear and resonant as if from a musical 
instrument. They brought to mind that well known Latin 
line, which, in its scanning, is an exquisite description of the 
sound which came from the hoofs of these noble horses : 

Quadx'upedante putrem sonitu quatit ungala campum. 

As we drove on, a black object was seen in the middle of 
the broad road. We soon saw it v/as a donkey, with his 
head towards us, moving his long ears up and down, as if 
glorying in these disproportionate appendages. An attempt 
was made to check the horses, and, by shouts, to drive away 
the devoted donkey. He kept his ground, careless of fate. 
The team got to a Vv^alk as we approached him. The horses 
parted, passing gently by the side of the donkey, until his 
head touched the coach front. It stopped. The conductor 
sprang from his seat, loosened the near trace, seized the 
prisoner by his long ears, dragged him over the pole, and 
with a kick sent him, with as much speed as his gravity 
allowed, out of the way. While this was in hand, the team, 
careless of fly, and without fear or fret, kept as still as 
death. The horses understood that the least movement 
would be fatal to the donkey, and stood motionless. His 
owners, eating dinner by the road side, roared with laughter 
at our care of their stock ; while the conductor, in answer, 
gave them a blessing, which was no blessing at all. 

ScEXE WITH Childrex. — I have spoken of the wretched 
condition of many of the post-towns among the Pyrenees. 
But there was compensation for the wide desolation, and 
the individual misery, which I have described, and it had 
its most grateful and beautiful form. It was found in the 
children of these wretched looking places. They were 



476 JOURNAL. 

healthful, well nourished, often very clean, and neatly 
dressed. Their large dark eyes, and other good features, — 
their handsome brunette complexion, — and their elastic 
step, attracted my attention at once. They often were in 
the close neighbourhood of extreme age, infirmity, poverty, 
and in the contrast they could not but be gainers. I had in 
my pockets things which children love, — as lumps of sugar, 
sugar-plums, nuts, and a quantity of small bits of money. 
As soon as I escaped from the diligence, I was surrounded 
by these "little beings," as Spurzheim used kindly to call 
them. They laughed, they talked, they jumped, and came 
so near, that you could not but think they had had expe- 
rience of the kind offices of the wayfarer. I soon began to 
distribute my treasures. Money came first, — then sugar- 
plums, nuts, — lastly, sugar-lumps. You cannot tell how 
delighted were these children with the slight gifts. They 
came and kept close by me, with that natural confidence of 
children which so strikingly distinguishes them from those 
older and larger children, commonly called men, who so 
often most suspect those who come to them with kindness 
and gifts. 

timeo Danaos et dona ferentes. 

In one post-town there was among the children a girl older 
than the rest, — say ten or twelve. She was exceedingly 
pretty, and had taken most care of her toilet. She was 
rather shy, but still came near enough to get her part in the 
presents. I proposed to kiss her in return for my simple 
but prized wares. She suspected my purpose, and was off" 
in a true Gazelle flight. Then she came nearer, and as soon 
fled, as I moved. At length I got into the diligence, and 
leaving the door open, the children soon surrounded it. 
Some of the larger ones took hold of my favourite, and drew 
her towards me. There was less reluctance than before ; 
and I cannot but believe, that, if the signal for starting had 
not just then been given, I should have succeeded. Now 



JOURNAL. 477 

these adventures with the children were most pleasant to 
me. You can hardly understand how wholly different were 
these experiences, from those furnished by tie frequent 
old women, with the everlasting distaff at door and win- 
dow, who made up the human which was generally seen in 
these wretched post-towns. Very few young men, or young 
Avomen, were seen. Decrepit old men were frequent. They 
were seen resting on staves ; or crawling round in the sun, 
taking little or no interest in the diligence, or in the stran- 
gers, who daily passed by. Sometimes we threaded these very 
narrow dark streets at night, or in the evening. But, as 
before said, I do not recollect seeing a light in any of these 
prison-like houses. 

Madrid. — Monday, called at the Legation, and saw the 
Charge, the Minister being absent. Was introduced to his 
lady, a Spanish lady whom he has lately married. She is 
very pleasing, possessing the attraction of beauty and man- 
ner, and giving an assurance of a welcome which is always 
so valued by the stranger. And now, young ladiss, let me 
say here a word of the Spanish lady. I have seen on the 
Prado, at different times, thousands almost, in coach, and 
on foot, and of the highest classes in the city. The speci- 
mens were in numbers for conclusions. I have seen them 
since in my walks, at all hours of the day. They are hand- 
some, — of excellent manner, gait, dress. They have the as- 
surance which good person, fine face, grace, position, always 
may have, without the least admixture of that wdiich always 
makes assurance, in common parlance, so very disagreeable, 

so unlady-like. Self-possession is the better word, — 

just so much self- consciousness as gives piquancy or charac- 
ter to manner. The face is quite striking. The skin is a 
brunette, but is perfectly clear, as if translucent, and full of 
light. I have seen it of dazzling brightness, as if the 
source of its own illumination, and as if the light lingered 
and played in the face before it left it. You may charge 



478 JOURNAL. 

me with being fanciful. But there are mj^steries in nature 
which we may always read. Let me bo understood. The 
idea of a brunette is, that it is thick, — not brilliant, — dull, 
— as somebody said, might be better for washing. Not so 
here. I have seen as much brilliancy, as much lustre, in a 
brunette face, as ever I did in a blonde. The colour, if so 
to be called, is not obtrusive, and may be to be looked for. 
But it is there, and to me is quite as attractive as when it 
stares one in the face, out of a pair of full round red cheeks. 
In speaking, the whole face speaks, the expression depending 
on the mental action. If this be calm, the expression is. 
And if excited, the whole story is told. The habitual man- 
ner here is calm, quiet, even, — no hurry, no confusion. 
None of that beforehand stir to answer a question before 
it is half put, and which makes, — I will not say what 
foreign company of half a dozen, — a perfect Babel, every- 
body talking and screaming at a time. Still you have here 
the varied expression which shows you are understood, and 
which has in it half of a reply. I sit daily opposite a 
Spanish lady at the table d'hote, and though not handsome, 
her expression during conversation is very agreeable. 
What she says is " Greek " to me, while the universal lan- 
guage of expression, which we all understand, makes her 
exceedingly attractive. I said the lady is not handsome. 
Handsomeness and beauty is not the same. Each may exist 
alone. The first may contain beauty, but does not depend 
upon it. Beauty is not necessarily handsome. Its elements 
are symmetry of feature, and good complexion. It asks no 
more, and how often it has no more. Handsomeness comes 
of expression, — manner, — of the mind and of the heart. 
Sometimes of voice alone. " How handsome is such a 
lady," said one, "and yet how un symmetrical is her face, 
and her eyes are a little, very little awry. And yet when 
she speaks, how handsome, — yes, how beautiful is she." 

The Phado. — The traveller goes to the Prado to see 
Spanish face, form, and manner. It is very pleasant, in the 



JOUKXAL. 479 

early evening, before sunset, for this is the walking hour, 
to go there, and see the Madrid world pass by. It is an 
endless chain, and how various the links. The ladies are in 
full dress. If in colours, which may happen, the richest 
fabrics are selected, and are ornamented and flounced to the 
demands of taste and fashion. Black rules, and the man- 
tilla, is univers^,!. This crosses the head at the middle or 
crowning of the hair, and fails as a graceful drapery over 
the shoulders. It has an affix, which may be let fall over 
the face, or so much as may serve. Now, as the Spanish 
nose is a very nice one, you can understand how much of a 
veil the mantilla really is. It comes in close contact with 
the face. The wearer can see through it, and so may you. 
You see on the Prado the gait, — the walk of the lady, — 
its quiet, dignified, but perfectly easy, graceful manner. 
You rarely hear anything said, or so said as to attract atten- 
tion, making it probable that loud talking and laughing, 
are not in vogue on the Prado. You are constantly so near 
the company here, that observation is perfectly easy. 

The Fax. This is universal. It is national. Bonnets 
being not in use, and the head covered only by the man- 
tilla, and the sun of vast power, it was necessary to find 
protection in something. The fan was invented, and how 
gracefully used. I saw, yesterday, two ladies walking in 
the square of the Cortez, when the heat was intense. They 
were frequently changing place, and met the fierce rays of 
the sun. The fan was in constant motion, and the face and 
head always in shade. Now, laugh as you may, this was a 
beautiful and most successful experiment in the science of 
self-protection, and, at the same time, of graceful position. 
The American lady, I believe, has adopted the mantilla, — 
would it were the Spanish one. If she give up the bonnet, 
let me commend to her the fan. The hair is black, in 
Spain, in great profusion, and finely arranged. The Queen 
difi"ers from her subjects, in being a blonde, with blue eyes, 
and flaxen hair. The peasants braid the hair, letting it fall 



480 JOURNAL. 

down the back, wearing a coloured headkercliief, the ends 
behind. They are handsome women, with splendid eyes, 
the national distinction, and excellent forms. You see hun- 
dreds of these girls on the road, going to market, with full 
baskets on their heads, walking as straight as arrows, with 
a step truly regal. Yesterday, I saw a peasant girl with 
light hair, curled at the ears, and braided and turned up 
behind, and you cannot think how out of place or country 
she seemed. 

The Prado has a fine course for riders and drivers, and 
horses and carriages fill it. A light rail separates these 
from the walkers. Social position is readily settled, not 
by mantillas, or dress, exactly, though with manner these do 
much. You see it in the coach emblazonry, the horses, 
liveries. The coaches are, for the most part, open, — on 
the Continent they are generally so, as landaus, barouches, 
&c. By standing at some point near the railing, you will 
see the cortege pass, its motion being slow, and by an 
arrangement of the drive, it returns constantly upon itself, 
and of course passes before the spectator. The whole man- 
ner of the Prado is quiet. No noise, no hurry. You hear, 
indeed, the faint cry of " freshwater," " fresh water," which 
is of excellent quality, and at the smallest price. To see, 
you have only to walk in an opposite direction to others, and 
nothing need escape you. There are foreign ladies always 
on the Prado, and you can tell them at once. They wear 
colours, and bonnets, and are fair, with light eyes. The 
student of national physiognomy has an excellent chance 
for his calling. All sorts, ranks, and ages are seen. 

The m.ass of the people are well-looking, careful, and com- 
fortable in dress, cheerful in manner, and give the impres- 
sion of comfort, — living without excessive toil. The 
women work, but want the hardness and sharpness often so 
deeply cut into the very face and form of women in other 
places. The human of the face is not burnt out, and up, 
by field toil in the hot sun ; nor is expression lost in the 



JOURNAL. 481 

pressure of neglect and servitude. Spain, in its citj^ and coun- 
try, forces upon you the feeling that you are amid the ruins of 
a mighty Empire. Not but that in Madrid there are splendid 
buildings, in excellent repair, and all sorts of appliances 
and provisions for individual and general comfort and pro- 
gress. There is refinement for leisure, — and cheap plras- 
ures, and time and means. Here are churches, and galleries, 
and museums, and palaces, and armouries, and schools, and 
charitable institutions, and the Prado ; and they are valued, 
and must have their effect. It was in Russia I saw the 
reason for vast expenditure upon the external, and in Spain 
I read the same story in the manners of the masses, in the 
pleasures, the resorts of the people. In AmericPo less in 
this kind is done than in any other region under the sun, 
and Vv^hich to me has made the attraction of European life. 
We in America look for the compensation in the means 
of direct education, free schools, ministries at large, &c. 
Would that we had, too, those silent but sure educators 
which every hour and every day might be addressed to all, — 
silently but surely enter into life, — modify character, and 
polish society. I see in such external means of culture in 
Europe that which tends to bring men into sympathy ; for a 
common sentiment concerning anything deserving the name, 
will and does bring human hearts into harmony. The Pearl 
of Raphael is for the whole eye of Madrid, — of Spain, — 
and Murillo's mightiest works, may and do bless all. 

The Palace. — I Avent with Mr. P. to the Palace, but 
was not admitted. For reason, the Queen had ordered that 
no one should enter it. " She is afraid," said my courier, 
" that they will put powder there and blow her up. That 
is it, Sir." I heard that some articles had been missed, and 
that it was believed that visitors had taken them. 

Ancient Aemoury. — This is quite worth a visit. Here 

in wonderful preservation is the armour of all nations with 

which Spain has had successful war. It is as fresh, as 

bright, as if made yesterday. Here, too, are arms of various 

41 



482 JOUEXAL. 

peoples, in variety and number of specimens, I have not 
seen before. They are as perfect as are those of the armour. 
I will refer to one specimen, — the sword of Columbus, — 
the emblem of his power, the wise exercise of which has 
placed him among the questionless heroes of the race. It 
was by this power, moral and intellectual, he controlled men 
under circumstances the most unpromising ; and made him 
the revealer of a new heaven and a new earth to the Old 
World. Spain was the depository of the interests of the 
world which he discovered ; and is, of what he has left ; 
and though in the land of his home, that has dwindled 
almost to nothing, — this little relic has a world's interest, 
and a nation's care. 

National Galleky of Art. — From the Armoury, I 
went to the Gallery of Arts. To visit this was one of my 
objects in coming to Spain. Here are the works of Murillo, 
which have secured an historical interest to Spain so long 
as the highest art interests man. Here, too, are works 
of Raphael, of Titian, of Rubens, of Ribera, and of all 
others best known to fame. I purpose no description of 
these works, nor of the statuary, which fills galleries of 
fatiguing extent, but which you always leave with regret. 
Let me speak of a single picture. It is a holy family. The 
Child Jesus is on Mary's lap. His eyes, or rather his head, 
is raised somewhat, and he seems to be looking at some 
object of great interest, his face expressing that interest. 
John is watching this expression, as if to learn its cause. 
Mary is looking at Jesus. She is the most striking for 
beauty, of any of her name. It is exquisite. It is as remark- 
able for its features as for their expression. In most of the 
pictures of her the attempt seems to have been to express, 
so to speak, the inexpressible, with less care in the form and 
managemsnt of the features, than you see in the ideal of 
human beauty in other instances of it. In this there is phy- 
sical beauty, as if it had been the purpose of Raphael to 
present this form of beauty, and its expression, as devoted to 



JOUBNAL. 483 

a divine object. The infant is of exquisite beauty also. He 
has filled the mother with love ; I had almost said with 
pride, as hers, and that it was not out of place to represent 
her as a beautiful woman ; filled with the mother, but at the 
same time conscious of the divine nature of the object of 
her love. I was more in sympathy with the Pearl than with 
any of the other works of Raphael. It has none of the 
coldness of the virgin mother, in other instances. By 
coldness, I mean the absence of the human. On the con- 
trary, it is full of warmth, and of feeling. Never has the 
external, the objective, become so immediately and wholly 
subjective, — so incorporated into my own intellectual being, 
as did this vision of beauty. I rejoice that I have seen 
this work. Raphael has before never so moved me. I have 
never seen a copy, or an engraving of the Pearl. How 
poor, how ineffectual are copies in every kind of such pic- 
tures, — of such a mind as Raphael's. Is it not a sacrilege 
to attempt such a work? It is the author's soul expressed 
by visible signs, which is before you. Who shall dare to give 
us the sign, who has not the author's soul for its seal ? 
Who shall enter the sanctuary of another man's mind, to 
say for him what he himself has uttered, — live again his 
outward life? Who shall attempt to copy such works? 
We arrest the counterfeiter, yes, send to prison the man 
who, f-ov money, copies and uses another man's name. 
Which is the greater, the worser counterfeit? I have 
spoken of this before. But the very day, or rather days 
devoted to this noble gallery, there was a person actually at 
work copying the Pearl to order ; and what a tJiirig he has 
made out of an idea ? I could not refrain recurring to this 
wretched business. 

Murillo's Infant and Sheep, — Jesus the Pastor, — is a 
perfect treasure ; and John, near to it, another. Rebecca at 
the Well, is as fresh and as sweet as is the water she hands 
to the Patriarch. There is a Conception here by Murillo dif- 
fering somewhat from that in the Louvre, but his ; and with 



484 jouk:n'AL. 

all his beauty and power. An exquisite Boy wearing his 
hat, often engraved. I do not mean to give you a catalogue. 
How fresh are these works of Murillo. Time has gone 
smiling by them, as if he had said, " For me, they may live 
forever." 

In a room somewhat private are pictures by Titian. 
These are, for the most part, Venuses, and not one repre- 
sentative of this goddess has had time for her toilette. 
There they lie as they were born, with the simplicity, and 
I suppose, innocency of all other children, grown or other. 
In these works, form and colour have entered into a limitless 
copartnership for the creation of beauty, and all the world, 
the critics, and amateurs say, the firm has succeeded. 

In another room are the Venuses of Rubens. These 
also have no companions. The colouring and the drawing 
are perfect. But, as to form, out of which much of art and 
beauty come, to me they are splendid failures. Bubens' 
models must have been of Flanders, for the goddess, as 
given to us of old, is no relation of theirs. I never saw 
such exaggerations of flesh on any human being, — no, not 
even excepting that four hundred pounder in our K.'s Mu- 
seum. These Venuses present themselves to you in every 
possible attitude, front, back, side, oblique, and every muscle 
is as deeply marked as if the models had been flayed after 
being undressed, and that the artist's sole object had been 
to present every individual muscle in action in all the atti- 
tudes given. Now nature does no such thing. True, in 
the living, surface shows where muscles are, and you feel 
that the action is true. But there is no dissection here, and 
yet everything is as if naked before you. Truly may we 
say of high art, — 

Causa laid, vis est notissima. 

I am a physician, you know, and it has been said, and as 
I think, truly, that our preliminary studies in the anatomical 
theatre may make us somewhat indifferent concerning many 



JOUHNAL. 485 

things that disagreeably move others. Now I do declare that, 
notwithstanding the influences of these studies, I could not 
look upon these extravagancies of Rubens with indifference or 
insensibility. They were to me absolutely caricatures of 
humanity. To be sure they were designed to represent the 
divine of Paganism. But were I to be called to worship 
such heathen goddesses as these, I would spare the Mission- 
ary Society the trouble of my conversion, and instinctively 
look for objects of worship elsewhere. Seriously, why are 
such monstrosities in being a moment longer ? Why in such 
near proximity to Titian, to Murillo, to Raphael ? Go to 
these and learn eternal lessons in purity and in beauty. 
Look on the Mother and Child, — look at the Last Supper, 
— look at the Pearl, — look at High Art where you may, — 
in its true objects, and sincere accomplishments, and come 
away and say as you must, if you have a soul, that you 
have been in the temple of beauty and of love, and have 
come from that divine service a better man. I despise pru- 
dery, nor would I place the moral, the intellectual, the phy- 
sical together, and strike the balance of their separate claims 
in Art. They make one, and should only be seen and used 
as such by the artist. I saw a young lady in the Louvre, 
very pleasing in appearance, and, as I thought, the best 
copier there. She was copying a picture of a perfectly naked 
female of exquisite beauty, by a master in the Art. I looked 
at the original, at the copy, at the copier. Do you suppose 
for a moment that a question arose of the work or of the 
artist ? Do you suppose for a moment that the idea of pro- 
priety or impropriety, — delicacy or indelicacy arose ? No. 
Here was an attempt, a fruitless one, as I thought, to copy 
the exquisite work of a master, by a mind and a hand which 
had not and could not approach to the conception of such a 
thought, and of such a fact. It was simply a question with 
her whether she should attempt to imitate such perfection 
in x\rt. The obvious failure answered the question for me. 
In a city in America is an Academy with a gallery, and in 
41* 



486 JOXJKNAL. 

the last, is statuary. I remember tliat this was opened to 
men and women on different days. It was not thought to 
be well for the sexes to look npon such works, though of 
the best in their kind, together. If there were any truth 
in this, it would have been better that neither should have 
looked at them at all. There is coarseness, and indecency 
in Art sometimes which should shut it out of all decent 
society. In many of Teniers' pictures is a figure which 
should never be in public, and which a statute of our 
decorous State would surely punish. But Teniers is tolerated. 
He gives us life, you say. I say, no. He gives us conditions 
of living, which some conventions have settled should not 
form topics of common conversation, nor matters of exhibi- 
tion. If not to be talked about, they should not be exposed 
to public view ; certainly not in a work of Art. 

Mi:s"EiiALOGiCAL MusEUM. — This is a large government 
building devoted to natural history. The collections of 
minerals fill many rooms, and are of great interest. In 
crystals especially, do the riches of this collection declare 
themselves. They are very large and perfect, reaching to 
the crystalline forms of all known minerals. The arrange- 
ment is such as to aid the student by furnishing, in place 
and relation, the sjDecimens he needs. They are contained 
in close cases, with glass all round, and look as fresh as if 
just broken from the parent mass. American specimens 
are few, principally of the precious metals. One mass of 
muriate of silver, luna cornea, is enormous, and is of im- 
mense value. It seems to consist entirely of the muriate. 
Fine specimens of platinum are here. The greatest care is 
shovved throughout this extensive Museum, and you cannot 
but feel grateful to Her Majesty for the liberal appro- 
priations which are made to increase and preserve the means 
of good science. The Museum is open to the public with- 
out fee. The same is true of the Picture Gallery. Thanks 
to Her Majesty, strangers are admitted daily and freely 
from ten to two or four, upon showing their passports. 



JOUENAL. 487 

The natives twice a ^Yeek, having obtained tickets for that 
purpose. 

In speaking to one after this visit, I alluded to the mis- 
management of the American colonies of Spain, which had 
led to their independence. It seemed very strange to me, 
I said, that so small a State as Portugal should retain its 
American colonies, while Spain should have lost hers. I 
added that the near neighbourhood of the Republic might 
have had an influence, but could not be the sole cause. He 
said the colonies were lost by being treated as enemies 
rather than friends. Why, said he, Cuba is governed in the 
same way at this moment. Not an otficer, from governor- 
general to the lowest, but is sent from Spain. A Cuban is 
not trusted v/ith the smallest public service. This is enough 
to alienate any colony. It requires many soldiers and ships 
to keep the people down, and this enormous expense, with 
salaries, uses up most of the Cuban revenues. The gover- 
nor's salary is five or six times that of your president, and 
with fees, he goes home in a year or two, a rich man. He 
said that there was an under current in Spain ready at any 
moment to declare itself, and involve the State in ruin. The 
speaker seemed a well informed man, and this is what ho 
said. 

A moment more in the Museum. My description of the 
grand specimen of the muriate of silver, may lead you to 
suppose that other specimens of the previous metals, from 
the old colonies of Spain, are of like proportion. No such 
thing. For the most part they are hand specimens of fair 
size, — of gold, platinum, native silver, in crystals, arbo- 
rescent, &c., &c. The thought came at once of the changes 
which had taken place in all the relations between the 
mother country and her ophir colonies. Once Spain owned 
them all, and much of the business of her marine was in 
bringing home their precious metals. But now some hand 
specimens in glass cases, most carefully guarded, are all that 
remained to remind her of what she once had. The best 



488 JOURNAL. 

gold to a State is that which is dug out of, as well as by, 
the good muscle and good spirit of a people. National 
decay can never come of such mining as this. It cannot be 
wasted, for the sure laws of a certain nature produce and 
preserve it. It is the good patrimony which every father 
gives to his child, and he has ever been the best man who 
has succeeded to such childhood. We are making the ex- 
periment of gold-digging, money-making, without mind, — 
the muscle, but not the spirit. The result is not yet, unless 
it be the hundred millions of foreign debt which our gold, 
dug and to be digged, is standing godfather to, — and which 
it peradventure may pay. 

Butter. — There is no butter in Spain, as far as I have 
been. What do you mean ? Just what I say. I did not 
see butter from Irun to Madrid on any table, at any meal. 
Oil replaces it in cookery. I once saw what seemed a ball 
of butter in a closet, and asked the waiting-girl to bring it to 
me. She did not understand. My courier was told to ask 
her for it. He asked for some hm^ro, the Italian for the 
article. She shrugged her shoulders, and went on cutting 
Tip, and handing about. He then said, the gentleman wants 
some mantica, the Spanish for butter. She had none. I 
told C. there was some in the buffet, and he got it. The 
girl saw him put it on the table, and came out with an 
antico, which settled its character. They have in Madrid 
what they call butter, but it did not remind me of the 
article. Now this want of butter, like ours of June, with 
its golden hue, its exquisite flavour, making one's breakfast 
an event, and giving to the dinner so much that a dinner- 
wants, — the want of this, makes foreign travel a trouble to 
the traveller of taste. It has its place, with bad taste, 
however manifested, and almost makes one yearn for his 
green fields and herds. A traveller had stopped at a place 
among the Pyrenees, — a solitary house, — exhausted with 
fatigue, and dripping wet. He had ridden, — the demand 
of the time, — and his horseman's boots were top-full, — 



JOUEXAL. 489 

OYeiTimning with water. As he sat hy the fire he asked for 
dinner. A soup was in the orders. The pot was soon in 
place. The vegetables in and boiling, when the good 
woman, taking the lamp from the mantel-piece, poured its 
contents into the pot. Horrour struck at this, he asked what 
it meant, and learned with comfort that olive oil was used 
alike for soup and for illumination, and in due time had an 
excellent dinner, and delicious soup. 

Wateh. — Madrid is supplied with excellent water. It 
is brought from a distance in pipes, and is served at foun- 
tains. In the evening, water vessels of w^ood are brought 
and are carefully placed, so that next morning they may be 
easily filled, and found. I did not understand this as I saw 
one evening these arrangements. Early in the morning 
men are at hand with tubes of various length to reach every 
W'ater vessel, and fill each with perfectly fresh and nice 
water as it issues from the various mouths of the fountain. 
In the morning they carry them to each house with the day's 
supply. The price of the service being, I think, about two 
francs a month. Now this is a nice method. The quantity 
is limited, and this prevents waste. I can vouch for the 
excellence of the water. Beside this supply, Vv'omen come 
in great numbers, bringing earthen vessels shaped not unlike 
tea kettles of large size, which are filled by the bearers, and 
carried away on their heads. The women of the Continent 
do great head work. The water is soft. In other countries, 
or cities, I have found it hard. For those who have taste 
and time for daily ablutions, the Madrid fountains are great 
blessings. Another use of water here is the watering of 
streets, and of trees. You cannot tell how great is this 
luxury, for at home you have it not. I mean watering 
trees. The leaves are thoroughly wetted with fresh water,' 
and the wind through them is cool, and singularly refresh- 
ing. I was once asked if Madrid were not a nasty place. 
This epithet is common in England, for the most part, phy- 
sically used,— as nasty weather, — a nasty person, is either 



490 JOURNAL. 

morally or physically so. I think the word is a nasty one, 
and enough to break a contract of marriage, if used by either 
party. I answered the question about Madrid, saying that 
it was a very nice, clean place. The streets are wide, and 
shade trees have room to grow. They are both faithfully 
watered. You see with what care the trees are washed and 
dressed every morning. Women take part in this process, 
and you think of the Hamadryads of old, the guardian 
angels of the trees. The dirt is brushed np, and removed 
at once. The paving here favours cleanliness. The stones 
are symmetrical, of the shape and size about, of bricks, and 
wedge shaped. They are laid with as much care as brick in 
the walls of a house. Nay, 1 have seen them laid in mortar 
to secure firmness. The edges thus remain in place, and 
the pavement being, as we said, wedge shaped, a series of 
arches is formed which not only aid each other, but produce 
a smooth road, a monstrous comfort to horse, carriage, and 
the carried. I looked at these means of comfort in their 
sanitary bearings, and you see at once how much health 
may be promoted by the pure air of streets. Sometimes 
the gutter stones are round. These are laid with special 
care. They are in precise lines, and the grade is secured by 
constantly using the spirit level, — or rather, uniform de- 
scent is produced by inclined j^lanes, and the water runs 
freely off. I notice with pleasure the firmness of European 
paving, and this under loads of merchandise, — of wagons, 
and of horses, of the weight of which we know nothing. 
Now, how difi'erent from the perfect smoothness of these 
streets, are ours, and how clean the first are kept. Nothing 
can exceed the annoyances of our streets. Everything suf- 
fers but dyspepsia. This may be helped by jolting, which, 
however, the dyspeptic can find amongst us without any 
painful inquest. Then of street cleaning. We summarily 
brush the street dirt up in heaps in the side gutters. Then, 
as if to please them, they may be left a day or two in their 
new residence, to be blown away, it may be, to be collected 



JOURNAL. 491 

again. If the dust cart comes, how slovenly the job is 
done, generally by the foreigner, who has had but little 
culture beyond peat cutting, or potato growing, and a very 
little work about the dirt heaps is sufficient. '^ Oh, the 
powers," said one to me, " and how nice are ye, to boLher 
about a shovel or so of dry mud.'' 

I entered Spain with anticipated starvation, or to be bled 
to death by night enemies, more industrious and inexorable 
than leech, or sangrado. As to the starvation, it was all 
humbug. I did not attempt every dish, but I got as much 
food as was convenient for me. The table was always neat, 
and, amidst the mountains, silver or plated forks were as 
plenty as in the city. I know nothing of the sleeping 
facilities in post houses, but in Madrid they are excellent. 
The beds are of cotton, the bedsteads of polished iron, the 
linen, linen. As to fleas and bugs, they are all in your eye, 
notwithstanding the rebutting testimony of guide-books and 
travellers. The service is excellent. There are things 
which the Anglo Saxon, and the Anglo Yankee, might ask 
to be reformed. But as most of them are for personal con- 
venience, I hardly think such a sacrifice to our prejudices 
will be entertained. 

The Escokjal. — This is the burial place of the Kings 
and Queens of Spain. Here are the children of royalty, 
and there, in the centre of this vast tomb, which occu- 
pies a subterraneous vault, or room of great extent, lies the 
Infant, — the body of the son of the reigning Queen, in a 
coffin, made rich with gold, and if my vision be true, with 
a crown upon or near it. Around the wails of this vast 
catacomb of royalty, are arranged, on shelves, the coffins 
of a long race of monarchs. The guide named them, I sup- 
pose in their order, but with a rapidity which made it im- 
possible for you to follow him, had such been your wish. 
The spaces are now all filled with coffins, so that the good 
sacristan who accompanied us with three candles, so ar- 
ranged in cluster as to allow him to carry them in one hand, 



492 JOURNAL. 

was quite puzzled to know how to dispose of the next king 
or queen who might die. We ascended from the place of 
the dead, made but little wiser, and no better by our visit. 

The Escorial was built by Philip II., and he is buried here. 
It is a convent. It consists of a palace, a church, and 
houses for the monks. It contained, formerly, between five 
and six hundred' monks ; now, as I was told here, only 
twenty-five. The destruction of the Inquisition was fatal 
to Catholic Spain. I was told, on my voyage from America, 
that Catholicism was reviving here. But I should think 
there is no truth in the statement. Don Carlos is the right- 
ful heir to the throne, as I am told, and who could even 
now reign, is absolutely prevented doing so because of his 
Catholic zeal, and because he would restore the Inquisition 
should he obtain the crown. Everything shows here the 
decay of religion. The churches are dilapitated. Their 
appearance is wretched. The Crosses by the way side are 
neglected and rare. I saw them broken, — deprived of one 
or both arms, and the least injured, most miserable things. 
They are now hardly met with. The churches have but 
few worshippers, and report makes the lives of the clergy 
utterly scandalous. You see how these reports are likely to 
be true, in the simple fact, that the rightful heir to the 
crown cannot get it because of his severe religionism. The 
subject seems determined to be no longer under the rule of 
the church. He is very likely to be entirely destitute of 
all religious feeling, in his apostasy from that which was, to 
the Catholic of Spain, the soul and substance of religion 
itself. I was struck with the mutilated, tumble-down con- 
dition of the houses formerly inhabited, in the Escorial, by 
monks. This is not the effect of neglect or decay only, for 
when the French were here, they destroyed these buildings 
by cannon. Ruins belong to just such a place. It is about 
twenty-four miles English from Madrid. It is surrounded 
by mountains, and being reached by a long and most tedious 
ascent, through the passages among mountains, stands in a 



JOUHNAL. 493 

very commanding position. Nothing can exceed the deso- 
lateness, and utter stillness of the place. The mountains 
are perfectly bare, not a green thing is anywhere. Rocks 
and stones are on every side, and what might have been 
once green, is burned and parched iip. It looked like a 
place accursed, as if men did not live here, while the undis- 
turbed lizard was running wild beneath your feet. I have 
rarely, if ever, been so impressed with the entire failure of 
so much human pow'cr and effort as have been used here. 

Philip II. — This King lived here years in mortal 
sickness, to watch over and bless, or to sanctify the mate- 
rials which were employed in building the Escorial. Here 
are the stools on which he rested his diseased limbs, and 
the chairs in which he placed his diseased body, and here 
are the boards, covered with velvet, which were placed in 
his lap, and on w-hich he wrote. These tables, if such they 
may be called, w'ere in two leaves, connected by hinges, 
and they said up there, that the minister would have one 
part resting on his knees, while the other was on the King's. 
The guide desired the company to sit in the King's seat, 
w^hich, in turn, some did. I was one of these, and took 
out my tablets and recorded the important fact. The apart- 
ments are very simple. The royal accommodation was far 
less than w^ould satisfy many of my republican friends. 
The rooms are very small, royal closets rather than regal 
chambers. I should think, in so hot a region, for the Esco- 
rial is nearer the sun than Madrid, that Philip must often 
have suffered by the heat. They showed us supports for 
his diseased legs, cases made to fit them, and which w^ere 
placed on stools. For winter use these cases are padded, 
and made to be warm. For summer, they are made of 
wire work, which will allow the air to pass through the 
meshes. I was glad to see this slight arrangement for com- 
fort, made for one who found his felicity in the severest 
penance, and his anticipations of heaven in his continuous 
sufferings on earth. 1 can understand w^hat such felicity 
42 



494 JOUENAL. 

was, and how sucTi a heaven was in prospect, loved. There 
are thnes in every man's experience, in which sorrow is 
without woe, and suffering without pain, — moments in 
which the relations between the spiritual and the physical 
are so loosened, that their entire separation would be wel- 
comed instead of dreaded. Why may not Philip have had 
his best joy in his self-imposed, or patiently endured 
misery ? 

You see arrangements everywhere made for the unob- 
structed enjoyment of religion by Philip. His closet opens 
near to a private half-glazed door into the church. This 
door is so placed, as to allow one behind it to see the chan- 
cel, and the services there, with perfect ease. The door is 
panelled, but the panels are moveable, and the glass is so 
placed as to allow perfect vision of what is within to the 
person who is in the closet, and without his being seen. 
At least this is the impression which I received from the 
apartments referred to, and the relations of each with the 
other. The panels were slipped aside, and this with per- 
fect ease, and without noise, and I immediately and jjer- 
fectly got full sight of the service v/hich was then 
proceeding at the altar. I know precisely what is the rate 
of Philip with Catholics and others, friends and enemies. 
I can understand how terrible might have been, aad were, 
the cruelties of such a man, — of how little account the 
sufferances of others for recusancy might have been to him, 
who died daily in his self-martyrdom for his own sins. I 
can understand all this. And how unworthy was such a 
course, how false to religion was such a life, in the regard 
of truly pious Christian men. But when I stood in the 
Escorial, surrounded by the memorials of a life devoted to 
what was thought to be duty, — and now that centuries had 
gone by since that life, and those acts, I confess the moral 
arose along with the bigotry, and I felt how the martyrdom 
for heresy, in declaring a truth on both sides, was to the 
martyr the ascension to heaven. I have not had time to 



JOIJENAL. 495 

analyze tlie process by which changes, and quite striking 
ones too, are made in opinions which have been confirmed by 
time ; and the adoption of others which, at one time, it 
seems hardly possible for me to have adopted. I stood 
there in the Escorial, or sat upon a stone staircase, each step 
of which, the guide was careful more than once to remind 
me, was one solid bit of exquisite and most costly marble, — 
and thoughts came, not only of my distant home, and of 
the strange fact that 1 was actually here, but of the people 
and times, out of the deep convictions of which this con- 
vent had been built, and that he who built it, who lived in 
it, who died in it, and now lies buried in it, might have 
played his part in the great drama of life, and have done 
for duty, which comes to us in so awful a livery^of unmixed 
cruelty. Philip's father left a throne for a cloister ; and 
his son passed much of the last years of his life in a con- 
vent. Was there not something in the condition, if not in 
the constitution, of the moral nature in each, which the 
mighty agency of an uncontrollable instinct directed ; and 
which gave character to their religious life ? There is cer- 
tainly something quite extraordinary in the religious expe- 
riences, and powers, of these remarkable men. And now, 
after the flight of centuries, in the place of their lives, and 
of their burial, we can, so to speak, afford to look on the 
other side of the picture, and learn what may be traced 
there. Instances of the power or tendency of the religious 
sentiment to tyranny, and in its most terrible and cruel 
forms, are scattered over every page of history. Charles 
and Philip were religionists. Their function was to pre- 
serve, in its purity, what to them was the true church. In 
that church, the earliest faith, we are told, was daily and 
hourly manifested. In unbroken succession the apostolic 
order had come along with the ages. The Imperial father and 
son were to see that, as long as they lived, it should pre- 
serve its earliest parity. " On this rock I build my church," 
had a literal significance. The Puritan came to America to 



496 JOURNAL. 

found a true churcli. He left one which for centuries had 
claimed the supremacy, because of its truth. The Puritan 
could not, and would not, tolerate any but his own. To 
differ from this was the highest heresy. He was true to his 
conscience. He banished heretics. Philip II. did not 
establish a new church. He found one ready made to his 
hand ; and with a terrible zeal he pursued heresy to the 
death. The smallest modification of faith, — the smallest 
departure from the truth, as he held it, — the only truth to 
him, — was punished with death in its most fearful forms. 
And with what indomitable firmness, yes, cheerfulness, Avas 
death welcomed. The heresy was a greater truth to the 
martyr, than was his faith who sent him to the stake. He 
paid the dearer for it. And what a price, in personal sufifer- 
ing, did not Philip pay, and in so much of his life, for the 
church. We have seen something of this. In his room, 
referred to, are the visible signs of his painful and loathsome 
diseases. To the popular mind these exhibitions may be 
disgusting, but they are not the less j^iroofs of the sufi'erings 
which he daily and hourly endured. They present our sub- 
ject in a phase which deserves to be considered, — the spirit 
of self-sacrifice for the faith in which Philip lived and died. 
That faith hath in it penance, the physical, and self-inflicted 
punishment of sin, — the element of self-sacrifice which is 
its own, — and then with what readiness has it carried this 
principle into its works of charity, of doing good to others. 
The Puritan was a man of sacrifice. Not that it was an 
article of his faith, but because he could in no other way 
declare and extend it. He did not come to America for 
freedom to worship God, but to establish a true worship. 
He denied this freedom in his first banishment, and for, to 
his mind, good and sufiicient reason. The territory he 
inhabited here was his own. He held it under the authority 
of a royal grant. He said that he had a right to his own, 
and that it was for his own uses. Nobody had a right to 
come into his possessions but by his permission, and if by 



JOtrnNAL. 497 

any conduct, lie distiir"bed the peace, — and tlie civil magis- 
trate was to settle this, — he might be, and he was, driven 
forcibly, if force were needed, out of the colony. 

I have said to you, for wdiom I write, of what most im- 
pressed me in the Escorial. I have spoken of Philip just 
as I was moved to speak in and by his desolate home, — of 
his sacrifices and of his sufferings. A commentary is truer 
than a history, not truer in regard to what its subjects 
have done, — their out-door public acts what they or their 
agents have done, — but truer to the intellectual and 
moral conditions of such actions. A man is not in his 
hand, but in his heart. In the solemn and deep conviction 
of duty, men have killed themselves, or have lived in the 
midst of a daily death, — the acutest sufferings. And such 
men have to answer the whole demands of conscience, — 
especially the religious, — have done things which should, 
as we think, make the angels weep, and yet they may have 
done them under the most solemn and responsible convic- 
tions of diUi/. A commentary may be truer than a history. 
There is a wise direction of an Apostle, " Look not every 
man on his own things, but every man also on the things of 
others." I quote from memory. How short had been his- 
tory, had this short sentence been the rule of the life of the 
world. How strange was the life of Charles V. What a 
chapter of contradictions. He was the defender of his 
faith, and at any cost to himself and to others. Yet Luther 
travels with Charles's safe conduct in his pocket, though 
his visit was to answer for a heresy which was hurrying 
thousands to the stake. Charles leaves palace and diadem 
behind him, and wanders through the wild Pyrenees, with 
sacrifices and sufferings which the stoutest could hardly 
endure. He shaves his head and puts on the cowl, though 
on that head, just before, were resting the crowns of many 
Empires. The soft purple is replaced by the coarse hair- 
cloth. He could starve for penance, even to danger to life. 
And yet he could eat, and did eat, more than any other man 
42* 



498 JOURNAL. 

of his time. The crowning antagonism of his life was his 
funeral, which he celebrated while alive. He enters his 
coffin, — hears, in his own funeral, the service of the 
dead, — is left alone, as if in his tomb, and rises, as if 
from the dead, to the duties of his monastic life. The man 
is a bold one who does not shrink from his own very self, 
in reading the words of what men of the " one spirit" with 
his own, have done. 

The church, or what might seem to be the chapel of the 
Convent, resembled in form a Greek Cross. The place of 
the chancel is in one of the equal branches of this 
Cross. This form answers very well for preaching, and the 
people, you see, may be in any part of the church, and still 
hear and see what is proceeding. They occupied the space 
opposite the chancel. I thought them, as I saw them 
through Philip's window, at an inconvenient distance, but 
as much of the service was at the time ceremonial, this was 
really of no consequence. When you first look through 
this panelled and glazed door, you see nothing but the 
chancel, the altar, the priests, and attendants. You only 
see the audience by looking in a direction opposite, and 
there you see them clustered together, on their knees or in 
chairs, as is usual in Catholic churches, there being no pews. 
I listened to the service. It was low chanting, wdth the 
organ accompaniment, and its effect was certainly as deep 
and as solemn as any service could be. Not to interrupt 
the service, the panels were closed, and we went to see 
the palace. There was nothing which I saw which much 
attracted attention, except some paintings by Ribera, — by 
Murillo, — and two or three alleged originals by Raphael, 
and many copies from him, and other masters. I did not 
go up a long flight of stairs to see other wonders, and so 
lost, as I was told, the "best of the whole," viz., a Christ 
in marble. Now, as I have been told this pretty often 
before, I felt, in some recovered strength, able for a new 
campaign. "Renewed strength," so early in the day? 



JOURNAL. 499 

Yes, for I rose at three, to get ready, for tlie diligence, 
■which was to start at five, was some distance off, and to 
which I was to walk, — and add to this twenty-four miles 
of hard jolting, without breakfast, for five or six hours, and 
then to start off on " sight-seeing." From the palace we 
entered the church. It is a very noble building, with less 
of gilding than some, but more of it than taste demands. 
In what strong contrast do the two churches in Munich, and 
the more remarkable one in Strasburg, stand, in their sub- 
lime simplicity, when compared with these, — I will not say 
gilded sepulchres, — but these elaborately ornamented inte- 
riors. It was, withal, grand in extent, in its vast pillars, 
— its roof or ceiling, — its profound repose. It was grate- 
ful to be here. This was the farthest limit of my wander- 
ings. Every new step would be forward, towards home, 
and rest. The daily preparation for travel, itself a labour, 
would soon be one toil less, and the weary mules would 
have no cause to complain of me more. I should soon be 
where was spoken my mother tongue, and the ever-coming 
" I do not understand," would not be the hourly answer to 
my question. So you see in this old chapel was cause of 
gratitude, and sure am I that I rarely fail to feel and express 
it. There are hours in Catholic countries when all the bells 
of the city begin to ring, just as it is with us when a fire 
happens. It is just that hour here in Madrid now, and such 
a din must be heard to be felt. What it means, I know not. 
It may be it is to summon the faithful to prayer. It is, I 
assure you, a painful process to the prayerless. An inter- 
mission, — and then a tenfold powerful peal. 

Casino. — I had not finished my service at the Escorial, 
for the Casino, the Little Palace, was next to be visited. 
Our guide in the church was a blind old man, but quite 
remarkable for his memory of places. His son guided him, 
and he us. He knew when he passed holy places, and bent 
his knee when he reached them. He has guided many 
Americana, and said he was always happy to do so. He 



500 JOITRNAL. 

asked of Mr. Calderon, and said he had married an Ameri- 
can lady. Washington Irving is a favourite. He spoke of 
others, Americans among the rest, and was evidently quite 
happy in his reminiscences. His name is Cornelius Burgos, 
as nearly as I could gather from the courier, and I think I 
shall long remember the plaintive tone, and the very 
pleasing countenance, of the blind guide of the Escoual. 
We reached the Casino after a mile's walk or so, through 
a broad coach-road, or approach, with linden, elm, and 
other trees on its borders. But for the intense heat, the 
walk would have been very pleasant. At the Little Palace 
we were consigned to a new guide, an old soldier in his 
uniform, but having very few teeth left, his Spanish seemed 
more uncertain than any before heard; but it answered. 
As its name imports, this place is minute in all its charac- 
ters. Especially is this the case with its inside. The 
rooms are without number. I soon ceased the count. 
They are, of necessity, very small, and pass off in all 
directions, without any apparent order. Sometimes you 
w^ould come upon a room of some size ; but then its height 
was so wholly below all proportion, that length and breadth 
told for little or nothing. I have never seen such a box in 
so wide fields, lawns, parks. It seemed the very plaything, 
baby-house of royalty, but here in Spain may answer every 
purpose equally well as another. But as if aware of its 
moral element, — if a little or a large palace has any such 
thing, — the Casino is utterly deserted. Beds, bedding, all 
w'hich goes tow'ards house-keeping, except a few show things, 
have been removed, and as I understood, its Royal Mistress, 
and only rightful occupant, visits it no more. The old 
guide is its only inhabitant, and a pretty dull time must he 
have of it. Speaking of furniture, I must not omit the 
pictures. They are in perfect proportion to the apartments 
they occupy. Most of them, certainly many, are of strictly 
miniature size. The frames are out of all proportion large, 
as if to give some character to that which they surround. 



JOURNAL. 501 

There was much that was curious in art here, and doubtless 
much that was valuable. Thus, minute works in ivory 
abound. Some of these are very beautiful, and well worth 
examining. Whole scenes are in ivory, — the Judgment of 
Solomon, for instance, Abraham offering Isaac, Xoah leaving 
the Ark. The r/wther, in the first, is done admirably ; its 
efiect is excellent. In another room, or, I think the same, 
are landscapes, said to be in ivcry. These are very small, 
and everything, leaf, thorn, the most delicate things pos- 
sible, of a hair's diameter, are beautifully displayed, and 
bear the examination of a glass. I had not seen these 
long before I began to suspect what they were, and to 
doubt if they were the work of a knife or tool at all. I 
thought of softening ivory, and of then by compression 
in a mould, getting these exquisite forms, and I asked of 
what these were made. Our principal spokesman was a 
very intelligent courier of an English gentleman who lives 
in the same lodgings with me, and is infinitely better informed 
than is the Madrid man I had taken instead of my own 
courier, who' cannot speak Spanish. He talked to the old 
soldier, and after a time said that " Chineses peoples made 
it." The mystery was at once solved. I remembered at once 
precisely similar things which came from China, which I had 
seen at home, and in making which sculpture has not the 
least place. 

The tapestries in this and the large palace are exceedingly 
fine. They do not, I think, equal the Gobelins in the per- 
fect manner of execution ; are less smooth, less like the finest 
painting. But they are full of spirit, full of character, and 
do infinite credit to their authors, if such a word be properly 
applied here. I was perfectly delighted with these speci- 
mens of a rarely used art, and which in France is a govern- 
ment monoply, so close that not the smallest specimen can 
be obtained. These tapestries are ver>^ large, covering the 
entire walls. Their subjects are very strangely selected, being 
frequently from Teniers, and are full of life and fun. I think 
a day may be usefully given to the examination of these 



502 jour:n'AL. 

works. Embroideries are here of silk and gold from royal 
hands, and others, — and inlaid ^yOik, by one of the kings, — 
which are exquisite in their kinds. He seems to have had 
the mechanical turn of Peter Veliki of Russia, and to have 
put it to as practical an account. Woods and gold, the 
latter especially, are employed in this inlaid work. Oak 
being the wood which gives form to specimens of the work 
here, and this is generally the wood employed. Doors, 
linings of rooms, &c., are thus ornamented. The time 
spent in these works must have been very great, and per- 
haps royal time has been rarely more innocently employed. 
While in the closet of Philip, I made the following record 
of my visit, sitting at his simple table, in his simpler chair. 
The matter recorded shall be yours in private. 

An English gentleman whose acquaintance I had made at 
the Fonda, was my companion at the Escorial. He was 
travelling with his servant, and having entered Spain from 
the Mediterranean, gave very pleasant accounts of that part 
of the country opposite to that by which I had entered it. 
He seemed to be a thoroughly educated man, and of excellent 
manners. We sat upon a lov/ stone wall under some Linden 
trees waiting for the porter of the gate to the grounds of 
the Casino. We fell into talk, and by accident America 
was mentioned. Something was said which led me to talk 
about home, and I gave a sketch of our government, — that 
of the general, and the state governments, — of the powers 
yielded and reserved by the latter, and the harmony which 
was preserved, where there might be supposed to be antag- 
onisms to disturb relations or operations. Religious, judi- 
cial, and educational systems and interests were alluded to. 
Mr. — — was much interested in all this, and at length 
asked, and with some emphasis, how I had got all this 
knowledge of a country so remote from home, and about 
which his knowledge was so very vague. I answered, that 
it was in the most natural way in the world, for I was born 
in America, and was now a traveller in Spain just as was he. 



JOURNAL. 503 

I was sorry to lose an acquaintance so accidentally made, and 
which had become so pleasant to me. I sat next him at 
table in ]\Iadrid, and had already talked with him, and was 
soon to leave him forever. It is one of the most agreeable 
accidents of foreign travel to make just such companionships 
as these. It is one of its most unpleasant experiences, 
almost daily, to see them dissolved. 

The time to leave the Escorial was at hand, and the dili- 
gence at the gate. It was crowded full, and I was forced to 
take a seat behind the banquette, unprotected from a sun of 
burning power. The road is horrid, and such were the 
plunges, pitches, and lateral tiltings, that I thought it would 
"be a gone goose" with me soon. And much talk was 
there as to the best course if the centre of gravity of the 
diligence should fall out of its base. At length the sun 
went down. And what a twilight. The sky grew ebony 
dark, overhead. The stars at once appeared. The twilight 
reached a short distance from the edge of the horizon, per- 
haps a sixth from the zenith, and instead of being diffused, 
made almost a line at the blue-black of the sky to which it 
reached. It was a bright yellow, and the deep blue instead 
of making a clean line of demarcation, seemed as if shaken 
down into the twilight, still not becoming diffused in it, but 
preserving its form and colour perfectly. It was the most 
beautiful as well as the most novel meteorological phenom- 
enon to my experience. You may not understand me, but 
believe me when I assure you that I have never witnessed 
such a vision of departing day. With what a grace did it 
say farewell, — with what a prophecy of " good night." I 
am conscious of very little, if any, imaginative or descriptive 
power. And I assure you in the midst of so much truth, 
so much fact, I look upon my work of description poor 
indeed. Nay, I should feel ashamed at such times, and in 
such memories, to think of myself, or mine, at all. In 
silence, in the utter absence of all active or acting power 
w ould I live in the presence of such manifestations of out 



504 JOURNAL. 

ward power and surpassing beauty, until I had made it all 
my own. If you would make a man humble, place him in 
the midst of nature, — inaccessible mountains, — the cataract, 
— the outlet, the by-way of a lake or sea. Place him in the 
midst and presence of the infinite, — to him, the impossible. 
He may be in his aspirations an angel, — in his conscious- 
ness, only a man. Two men, one very tall, one very short, 
were wandering afoot among the Alps. They were in a 
region from which rose a mountain, almost perpendicularly, 
to a very great height. They reached a spot from which 
they could see this mural mountain in its full elevation. 
They stopped. They were silent. At length said W. the 
short to R. the tall, '" R. I do not know how you feel, but I 
feel — very small ! " 

About nine, we reached Madrid, having passed the whole 
day at the Escorial. The city was alive with its crowds, 
and glaring with its lamps. The cry of " Fresh water," 
was on all sides. We walked the tired mules to the post- 
house, and walked our tired selves to the Fonda Peninsu- 
lares. Got dinner at ten, and went willingly to bed. 

Having made my arrangements, I left Madrid Aug. 25th. 
After passing through mou.ntainous regions, we came, one 
afternoon, to where the mountain sides were wooded, with 
wide valleys of well treated soil. Where we were, was not 
a cloud, — the sun shining with full but not burning bright- 
ness. At a distance there was heavy rain. At length we 
got very near to it. It was not moving clouds, but the 
simple condensation of the atmosphere's moisture, into an 
universal mist, or heavier rain. Our distance from it grew 
less and less, and at length our region of sunshine trenched 
upon that of rain at our right side. Here a novel appear- 
ance showed itself. A rainbow of perfect form and colours, 
with one limb resting among the trees of an orchard one 
field only from us, and near a farm-house, the other obliquely 
stretching till ending in the near horizon. It was thus seen 
in ijerspective. Understand now that this beautiful bow was 



JOURNAL. 605 

so close at hand that I could, in a minute or two, have 
reached its nearest limb, — stood in the midst of its gor- 
geous colourings. The effect of the trees was very curious. 
In their motions they broke up the portion of the bow near- 
est them, and the different colours were thus showered 
among the leaves and branches. You cannot tell how' grand 
was the effect. The bow was very large. It lay upon, or 
rather against the mountain- side, which was covered with 
mist or rain as with a garment, — dark, almost black, — the 
bow itself in the purest light, declaring itself in all the 
colours of the ray. I examined it with my glass, and was 
struck with the strong line of demarcation of each colour. 
I was looking into the secrets of nature, and was seeing 
her at work in the most exquisitely beautiful recess of her 
vast laboratory. It was all new, and left an impression 
which I have tried to sketch in my description. With me, 
few things of the external world are so vivid and lasting as 
are the effects, or better, the creations of light. The light, 
in its livery, — colour, — reaches the brain by the shortest 
passage. It is not, as is hearing, a vibration of the atmos- 
phere, which at length strikes the drum of the ear, and 
which, like other drums when struck, makes a noise in the 
head. It is the light itself, — if I may so say, — 

" br-ffht effluence of bright essence," 



which passes straight into the brain, and there tells its own 
wondrous story. It has to me more of the spiritual than 
has any other thing around me; and now past one, A. m., 
in Paris, these dim candles of mine sustain me in relation 
with the universe, as no other medium of intercourse 
with the outward can, or does. I hear now and then the 
carriage-wheels below in Rue Kivoli, and the uncertain voices 
of men, and the near and the distant clock. But all these 
are fragmentary, — broken, — accidental. The light is con- 
tinuous, — always the same, — a bright cheerful spirit which 
turns all things into itself. With such a strange present 
43 



506 JOURiS-AL. 

before me, I love to pay my allegiance to that which gives 
to me that present as it is. Would that in my fealty I had 
a pleasure as pure as is the object itself. 

Retukn to Pakis. — When I left Paris public activity 
was manifesting itself everywhere. Streets were changing 
in surface and extent. Rue Rivoli was on its way to the 
Place Bastile, which reached, would make it four or five 
miles long. Three hundred houses or more had been 
pulled down to make room for finishing the Palace, and 
this work was at once to proceed. Private houses were 
changing, by new fronts, or by raising roofs. Great public 
sewers were in hand, and repairs to public buildings. In 
the streets were stone-cutters at work under sheds, j^repar- 
ing materials for various and new enterprises. I asked a 
friend, with whom I was walking one day, what this all 
meant. Paris seemed to be undergoing a revolution. Said 
he, I have been told that the Prince has addressed a note 
to owners of real estate, calling upon them to make work 
on their houses, to give employment to crowds of people in 
Paris, who, if not so employed, might make appropriations of 
property, and some things beside, which might put them to 
much trouble. Now, of the truth of this I know nothing. 
But I do know that in no city, even in St. Petersburg, 
where a vast amount of out door work is always in hand, 
have I seen anything like the restless activity everywhere 
showed here. I think, yesterday, in driving to a place, the 
drive was lengthened full half a mile by turns out and 
round, in consequence of the broken state of the streets, 
and the great masses building of materials. Now, I was told 
this state of things had reference to one great point, the 
establishment of the government. Keep Paris emjDloyed, 
and France is employed. When no longer needed, — the 
object being attained, — these crowds will be employed else- 
where, upon railways, and other public works, and thus 
Paris will be relieved, and the public peace secured. Em- 
ployment identifies the employed with his work, and makes 



JOURNAL. 507 

sympathy too, between the employed and the employer. A 
man will not willingly destroy the work of his own hands. 
A government which, by any means, brings different classes 
at all into sympathy, secures itself ; for it thus makes itself 
the expression and the fact of the widest mutual interests, 
and has availed itself of the best means of public and of 
individual safety. At what small cost is not important work 
done ? I asked the wages of a common labourer. A franc 
a day, I was answered. You may think this a very small 
outlay for the public safety, — one fifth of a dollar. Yes. 
But you are looking at the subject from a point which 
should not be assumed for comparison, namely, the pay of 
an American labourer, for while that may exceed that of 
the Parisian five times, it will go no farther in the market 
than does the single franc. 

Come with me into France. Come with your eyes, 
your mind, and heart open, and look upon one of the most 
extraordinary portions of the universe. Go north, — go 
south. Go where you v/ill, and tell me where is better 
soil, better cultivation, larger or better products- Come 
into the city, — come into Paris, and tell me where is 
industry more industrious, labour more abundant, and the 
returns of which do more, or better for its support? I 
know it is said the government is the source of all this, and 
that it does it to secure stability. What better can govern- 
ment do than to establish itself in the comfort, the satis- 
factions, the present, and remunerative energies of its 
subjects : "What may come, time only can show. A stable 
government is not necessarily a despotism, and there may 
be occasions in wliich an admixture of despotism would 
be better than the semi-anarchy of so-called free states. 
True conservatism is an expression of power. Here in 
France, are about forty millions of people, trying the ex- 
periment of a republican form of government, with a con- 
stitution, — representatives, — an elective President, In 
the success of such a government, in the central power of 



508 JOIJENAL. 

European civilization, the world might rejoice. If the time 
for it have not come, — if the experiment fail, men and ages 
may have to wait for what the present was not yet ready. 
It is a strange thing this experimenting on government, — 
this instability in the action of the very heart of society, — 
the source and organ of a nation's vitality. None of us 
know what a day may bring forth. It is a harder ignorance 
which knows not if it will bring forth anything. Experi- 
ments concerning government have uncertainty attached to 
them, from the very nature of things ; and are, hence, the 
very worst Avhich can be attempted. In America stability 
is looked for in popular education, universal equality, and a 
written constitution. And in America there is a revolution 
every four years. The whole working j)ower of the State is 
changed, and the constitution used according to its con- 
struction by the temporary head. It is a written constitu- 
tion. It was the product of the time, — made for the 
occasion. Now the slightest degree of human progress 
must carry the State beyond a rule which suited an 
earlier ,time. A state, like a man, may, and should be, 
wiser to-day than it was yesterday. In a country of an 
unwritten constitution, government is the adaptation of 
rule or law to the present condition of the State, in regard 
to everything which enters into the idea and fact of a State. 
That which has been deliberately settled, and by the high- 
est judicial power, becomes a part of the constitution, — a 
member of the Common Law, which has its perpetuity in 
the principle out of which it has been evolved, and which 
it has brought into living action. The unwritten consti- 
tution of England is in mind, and which is so admirably 
and beautifully unfolded in the history of England, by Sir 
James Mackintosh, to whom the present age owes so much, 
and who will be the teacher of times long to come. You see 
in this work how the English constitution has kept equal 
step with the political and social developments of that great 
State. I was reminded while reading it, of the growth of 



JOURNAL. 509 

England's own majestic oak, which, springing from the acorn, 
becomes the monarch of the trees. So does that unwritten 
constitution, the growth of precedent, spread itself everj^- 
where, — reaching to every interest, and sheltering and 
protecting everj-thing it overshadows. 

But the American constitution is a compromise, — a bar- 
gain, — a contract. A compromise is not a principle. 
There are pay'ties to it, and interests are of course diverse, 
or compromise would be as unnecessary as absurd. There 
must be sacrifice in the adjustment and operation of such 
an instrument. Let now a contract be made, as perfect 
as language can make it, and we are told a skilful lawyer 
can, and if need be, will, drive a coach and six through it. 
The American constitution, we are told, with what truth I 
know not, has been desperately treated in this way, — that 
coaches, not with six, but with fifty horses, have been driven 
through it in every direction, till the ruts have become so 
wide and so deep, that one can hardly see the original sur- 
face anywhere. What is the foundation of this assertion, it 
is not necessary to ask, or to discuss. 

It will be conceded that what is wanted in every govern- 
ment is power. The only questions are of its amount and 
use. Said one to me in France, " A slight infusion of des- 
potism is useful in any government." There is an instinct 
in the recognition of true power, and in submission to it. 
There comes of it moral safety, — the feeling, that come, what 
come may, there has been a preparation for it in government, 
whatever be its origin, growth, or form. Somebody, or 
something, is answerable for your well being, — whether a 
limited monarchy, an irresponsible despotism, or an other- 
wise, reckless republic. He is the happiest child who, in his 
personal relations to others, has exercised the least will, — 
or who has learned that in duty, — in obeying others, — he 
has his best freedom, and pleasure. The absolute, the felt, 
and the acknowledged supremacy of a government acts upon 
the State, just as does the same thing upon the family. Its 
43* 



510 JOTJBNAL. 

products are public order, — the general, and individual 
prosperity. I 

The civil or social life of Paris, at first sight, so nearly 
resembles that of every large city, that you may not be 
aware of the difference. But look at it in detail. Here is 
a million, more or less, of people, living on a surface hardly 
large enough for their business, and dwellings. But there 
are no conflicts, noises, confusions. Everybody attends to his 
affairs, without troubling others in theirs. Here is heavy 
work, — large wagons, and horses, but the streets are wide, 
well paved, and so collision and injury prevented. The 
universal order attracts you, and so does the co-extensive 
courtesy. This last must be atmospheric. Nothing that is 
less universal than light and air could produce it. There is 
no necessary discomfort, if rules are not broken. People 
yield unimportant points, and thus is compensation made 
for the accidental, and, it may be, unavoidable breach of 
custom. A stranger feels this. He has not the rule by 
head, or by heart, and may get into a thousand snarls ; but 
he is gently put right, or rights himself, and there an end. 
The sidewalk is everybody's property. There sits a man 
near a cafe door. He takes a chair. He sips his coffee, 
and it may be something else, and stronger, and he goes his 
way, I have no doubt, rejoicing. You see these chairs and 
tables often. Suppose you are tired. There is the chair. 
You sit down. A servant comes out and asks your want. 
You say nothing. He goes in. Another comes, and if 
you do not take the hint, the whole of Banquo's line may 
succeed. In short, the chairs are for eaters, drinkers, and 
smokers, not for simple useless sitters. Go upon the Bou- 
levards after dinner, or in the evening, and you will see 
Paris out-door life more declared. You may see family 
parties everywhere. This out-door life I first saw in Ger- 
many. But there it is in gardens, in city, or suburbs, not 
as in Paris in the streets. To be sure all classes partake in 
these pleasures. So do they here, and as courtesy is the 



JOUHNAL. 511 

rule of social life, there is no inconvenience in the gene- 
rality of the custom. It has not had its source in accidents, 
and is hence permanent. Fashion has not dared to inter- 
fere with it. There is freedom, ease, in the daily intercourse 
of life. A Frenchman does not so stand upon his dignity 
as to make himself disagreeable. The direct patronage of 
the government, as seen in the distribution of honours, 
whether scientific, literary, or military, lessens distance 
between classes and orders. A celebrated surgical instru- 
ment maker wears a red ribbon at his button-hole ; and 
so does Baron Louis, the most renowned member of his 
profession ; and how largely are Eagles distributed among 
the military, may be seen everywhere. Just keep your eyes 
open, and Paris will reveal to you all its mysteries. Paris 
has no mysteries. 

You may hear of uneasiness as to the state of things. 
But I fancy this does not reach very far down into society, 
and there are arrangements by which to prevent trouble. 
Thus the sale of gunpowder is guarded. A certain quan- 
tity only can be sold to one and the same person at one 
time, nor can the sale be repeated till a fixed time after. A 
registry is kept of every purchase, when bought, by whom, 
where residing, for what purpose, quantity. In short, every- 
thing is done to prevent the accumulation of gunpowder 
in the hands of the people. Its sale is free elsewhere. 
Farther security is found in the organization of the National 
Guard ; for it embraces men of wealth, business and charac- 
ter, who serve for limited periods, and for the reason that 
they have the deepest interest in the public order, as they 
have most at stake. In the siege of New Orleans, large 
quantities of cotton, in bags, had been taken by order of 
General Jackson, and used for defence. An owner of some 
of this cotton complained of this use of his property, thus 
taken by eminent domain, saying that it was in danger. 
" Take a gun, then," said that commander, iclio was one, 
" and stand by, and defend it." I remember that in Ham- 



512 JOURNAL. 

burg the militia system, or annual or triennial service in the 
Guards, was required of every citizen. A gentleman from 
whom I learned this, told me that he was at that moment 
in that service. The government patronage of the business 
operations of private individuals, is another security to 
property. The government comes to have an interest in 
those operations. Thus, at Didot's establishment the other 
day, I was showed volume after volume, of enormous and 
splendid folio editions of most important works, in the pub- 
lication of which the government is directly concerned. 
This connection of the government in such enterprises, 
secures the uses of them throughout the world, as the price 
is brought within the means of individuals, as well as of 
colleges, universities, states. Nay, I was told by one who 
knew, and with whom I went to, and examined Didot's 
great establishment, that these books may be purchased as 
cheaply, if not cheaper, in America than in Paris. How 
much is it the direct interest of Didot et Freres, that there 
should be quiet, public order in Paris, and how reasonable 
that they should be, as they are, among its direct agents ? 

The government, then, does not go beyond or behind the 
record. Abroad the law is made, and must be obeyed ; and it 
is clear, that the men on whom every State depends, both for 
its permanency and present well-being, and doing, are here 
perfectly well satisfied. They know too well at what a 
hazard have been placed both life and property by experi- 
ments, for a so-called higher good. They, or some of them, 
have lived through these, and have invariably returned or 
been brought back, to the tried, in full knowledge of its im- 
perfections, nay, of its wrongs, being willing to wait for a 
progress which shall be a true growth, and better, perhaps, 
because it is slow ; rather than make a leap in the dark, for 
that which is not, and which, under the circumstances, can- 
not now be, or which would not endure. When Talleyrand 
gave in his oath of allegiance to Louis Philippe, he said, 
" I have done it so many times, that I hope this will be the 
last." What a comment on revolutions. 



JOUKNAL. 513 

When looking at the attempted revolutions of other 
countries, the American is apt to see them in the light of 
his own. But there is no parallelism between them. The 
fathers of America, the U. S. A., were intelligent, educated 
men, — officers, soldiers and all. They understood the 
whole mystery of the various relations which keep a true 
society together. They came from England, or remained 
a part of it, — America, the richest jewel in its crown. 
They knew when they were oppressed, because oppression 
had not been the rule, and the exception could not be 
tolerated. Everybody saw and felt this ; and when such 
a people says " No ! " the " Yes " of a whole world's 
despotism, means, and can do, nothing. And who in Ame- 
rica made a rebellion, which became a revolution ? Every- 
body. Did not the mechanic, and the farmer, do as much, 
in that world-renowned work, as did any body else ? What 
were Franklin, and Greene, and Revere ? Mechanics, work- 
ing mechanics, in those days and years of every man's life, 
which are years, — which give growth to the mind, and 
character to the man, and which especially prepare him for 
the highest, noblest accomplishments. The American should 
remember so much of his nation's history when he would 
compare its revolution with attempted imitations abroad. 
The latter have failed, not because there was not occasion for 
such sublime efforts, and aspirations, — the rising of nations 
for freedom. O, no. There was occasion. But the appre- 
hension, — the knowledge of individual or national wrong, 
however great, does not always bring with it the means of 
removing it, or such uses of them as will surely accomplish 
the object. Hence failure. I have instanced the expe- 
rience of France. How easy to show the like result in the 
experiences of other nations. In America, the possibility 
of a nation's governing itself, was an experiment, as it was 
with them. There are thinking men, at this moment, who 
doubt if the solution of the problem is yet reached. 

You cannot understand my feelings, when walking about 



514 JOURNAL. 

Paris, and when what I have heard of apprehension, and 
of preventives of outbreak, recur to me. The peace is per- 
fect. The life of efficient action, — the variety of occupa- 
tion, and its serious pursuit, — tlie wealth, the comfort, — 
whatever I see in these walks, gives the lie to reports and 
fears with which there is no outward harmony, and of Avhich 
the real, — the existing, is no prophecy. The thought 
has occurred to me, that there is something deeper in all 
these guards, — these attempts to prevent danger, than 
appears. They sometimes strike me, when compared to the 
actual state of things, to be the expressions of useful power, 
rather than of fear. They are the evidences of just so much 
active power as may be thought needful for the permanency 
of things ; and in directions, and by means, wdiich secure 
personal comfort, pleasure, safety, and which, at the same 
time, by regulating use, may prevent the abuse of important 
privileges. I said expression of power, and not of fear. 
My argument for this is found as already stated, in the 
actual state of things, — the regular, uninterrupted pursuit 
of the ordinary avocations of every-day life, — labour and 
its products, — content everywhere, — the ends of govern- 
ment answered. 

Among other calls was one on Baron Louis, who has 
done so much for his profession, which has been for his, and 
its perpetual honour, and by which the world has been 
daily blessed. I was showed into his parlour, or recej^tion 
room. Here were some pictures, and on his table a few 
volumes. I was curious to know what. Among them were 
Fontaine's Fables, — a work on the habits of animals, — 
Montesquieu on the Causes of the Greatness and Fall of the 
Romans, and a new book, of which the title has escaped 
me. After a time, in which I read among others, the fable 
of the visit of the Country Rat to the City Rat, in Fontaine, 
and which, for a moment, seemed to have a parallel in some 
late personal experiences, I was called in to see Louis. 
He met me at the door in a most friendly manner, and with 



JOURNAL. 515 

an expression that satisfied me at once, that if the world had 
been benefitted by his discoveries in medical science, those 
who came within the sphere of his personal influence, must 
have gained even more. It is not possible to describe a smile ; 
nor to write down what it is which wins you to a man at 
first sight. I knew that my old and most kind friend, Dr. 
James Jackson, of Boston, had, in a letter, recommended 
me to Baron Louis, and his reception of me, I have no 
doubt, had derived its character from the letter. But 
there was, aside from, and beyond all this, the native cour- 
tesy and kindness, which have their sources deep down in 
the nature, and which declare themselves, as does the voice, 
the walk, the whole manner of the man. Dr. Johnson 
said, that should any one meet Mr. Burke under an arch to 
protect himself from a passing shower, he would say he had 
seen the greatest man in England. Is it not a pleasant, is 
it not more, a grand, a noble thing, to carry yourself always 
about with you, — yes, to live so much in the truth, as to 
afibrd to show what you are ? I felt that I was in the pres- 
ence of such a man, — whose smile was a benediction, and 
whose welcome, %velcomed me. I found that Baron Louis 
did not speak, or understand, a word of English, and my 
poor French was not so good as his whole ignorance. But 
we began to talk. He in a very quiet, slow manner, and 
with such precision of enunciation, that I understood him 
quite well, and the inspiration of his whole manner seemed 
to enlarge my vocabulary, and not. only so, but to arrange 
the words also, and thus to enable me with some facility to 
talk. I am sure that a very little more time and talk here, 
would make me a much better understood companion than 
at present I am. Baron Louis spoke of Dr. Jackson, and 
rose and went to a drawer, and brought from it a daguerreo- 
type likeness of him, which, after wiping with great care, 
he placed in my hand. It was clear how glad he was to 
possess this likeness of his valued and distant friend. I 
was very much struck with Louis' whole manner and face. 



516 JOURNAL. 

I said to him, " Baron, your portrait in America does you 
no justice." He has a fine manly head. He uses it and his 
face in talking, and there is so much kindliness in his 
expression, and at the same time so much force, that you 
are wholly won by it. In his portrait there is, if I mistake 
not, a stoop in the shoulders, or the head is bent down, or 
forward. His glasses are, I think, on, and the expression, 
if not of sadness, is certainly not at all of the opposite. 
Now in his presence you discover nothing of all this. He 
is active in his manner, not noisy, or rapid, but still discov- 
ering promptness in his movement or action. I should 
think he is not a slow thinker ^ He will get the evidence, 
and use it, but wisely. He will not let his judgments be 
overlaid by it, but still the evidence of well ascertained 
facts will always be justly valued by him. I did not won- 
der at the popular confidence in Baron Louis' professional 
opinions. I have no doubt, as a physician, he affects the 
patient most agreeably. He shows how thorough is his 
knowledge, and secures confidence before he has declared 
his judgment. I was sorry to leave Baron Louis. But I 
knew how valuable was his time, and that now was his 
hour of visits, or consultations. I rose to leave him. He 
asked if I had seen any physicians, for I told him I would 
thank him for a line by which to visit the hospitals. He 
most kindly gave me the addresses of Jobert and Dubois, 
and ofi'ered me his services if they would in any way aid 
me. I am truly glad to have seen Louis at home. I had 
seen him with my mind's eye, through his works, and in his 
picture owned here. Let me not diminish the value of this 
portrait one particle. I had only the memory of it, when 
in the presence of the original, and I am fully aware of the 
error into which such means of comparison may lead. I 
highly prize a portrait made by a good artist, as an attempt 
to represent the sitter himself, though it should fail to give 
his habitual expression. It would, after all, give the whole 
impression of the painter; and this, as far as it is truly 



JOUKNAL. 517 

given, would be a true portrait. Louis must have altered 
in the years which have elapsed since his was taken ; and, 
as a distinguished friend once said to me, that time always 
improves moral and intellectual expression, where the mind 
and the heart are developed by its discipline, I might now 
be looking at a wiser, and hence a more truly social man, 
than was he many years before it was my great privilege to 
see and to know him. Thus this Paris day has had much 
in it for present satisfaction, and for grateful memory. In 
this vast city, — the queen city of the world, — where are 
such crowds of men, and such diverse interests, I have 
not felt that I was a stranger. I have felt what I have 
so often experienced in my wide and strange rambles, from 
Moscow to Madrid, over so much of Europe, that where 
man is in his truth and simplicity, — beyond the tyranny of 
cold conventions, — we may always find hearts to love, and 
intellects to reverence ; and where they exist together, and 
act in a true harmony, we ourselves cannot but be made 
wiser, happier, and better. 

Dieppe. — Left Paris August 8th, a. m., for Dieppe, 
by rail, with some Americans, on the way to London. We 
got into different carriages, and my companions were now 
all foreigners. I never regret this, as my chiefest interest 
abroad is in the society of those who are native to the 
regions I am visiting. The company to-day was excellent. 
We just filled the carriage, and had neither loss nor addi- 
tion through the route. There was an English lady, a gov- 
erness, with three very pleasing girls, who had just finished 
their Paris education, — an English gentleman attached to 
the government, with a younger one, his companion, — and 
another gentleman, who said not a word all day. They, the 
talkers, were pleasant and intelligent, full of interest in 
everything they saw, and largely endowed with that spectacle 
vision which sees everything, and fits them to know every- 
thing at sight, as well as if grown up in it. One who sat 
44 



518 JOUKNAL. 

next me had passed much of his early life in Paris. I 
asked him of the schools. He said they were good. Chil- 
dren are fitted in them for the more advanced studies of 
college. The expense is small. The system of primary 
instruction, he said, is excellent. In the advanced ones pre- 
paration for the professions is made. " Any young man," 
said he, " who faithfully studies there, will leave his college 
with intellectual habits formed and fitted for the important 
business of life." He spoke as one who knew that about 
which he was talking. It was clear he had been in good 
society, — of literary men, and especially artists, of whom 
he spoke with great interest. The lady governess said 
much of the Paris schools, of their increasing numbers, and 
of the thoroughness of their discipline. A great many 
English girls, she said, were educated in Paris, and the 
number was constantly increasing. The care of English 
parents was seen in this provision for an accomplished com- 
panion for their children in their foreign education. The 
impression left by this conversation, with competent v/it- 
nesses, was, that the schools in Paris were well adminis- 
tered, offering excellent opportunities for accomplishing 
their objects. There is another class of teachers. These 
are of the church, — sisters of charity, nuns, and mem- 
bers of various religious orders. You see these with their 
scholars in nice uniform, and looking in perfect health, 
going about in procession, for exercise and amusement. 
One of these especially attracted my attention in Castiglione 
Street, the morning I left Paris. It is to me always a mat- 
ter of interest and of pleasure, to see religion, no matter 
how formal its expression, or what may be its creed, when 
it thus enters into external and out-door life ; and if not 
exactly lifting up its voice in the streets, showing itself in 
one of its chiefest offices, — the teacher, — the companion, 
— the friend of the young, and often of the poor. 

Early in the afternoon we reached Dieppe, and went at 
once to the pier for the steamer. She had not arrived, and 



JOUEXAIi. 519 

for our farther comfort, learned that it was of all things the 
most uncertain when she would come, and the very certain 
one, that the later her advent, the sooner would be her 
departure for England. 

At length the steamer was reported in sight, and off we 
all started to welcome her approach. We were soon aboard, 
and the craft under Aveigh. The breeze was getting stronger, 
and very respectable waves were dashing against the piers. 
Upon getting aboard, my instinct was to go into the saloon, 
and select and mark a place upon which to pass as much of 
the time as sickness and fatigue might make desirable. I 
did this, and my umbrella was left to represent me. Again 
upon deck, and at sea. The wind was most refreshing, and 
over the waves went our boat, hardly keel deep in the brine, 
and making every sort of movement, as if wooing the sea 
into kindness for her. It was bowing and courtseying, — 
affectedly sideling, — in short, as full of life and play as a 
very child. I stood my ground pretty well, resolved not to 
go below until it was not possible to keep on deck any 
longer. Upon the deck was the stairway to the saloon, and 
a covering to it to protect the cabin from seas which might 
be shipped, and making a convenient centre about which 
passengers might collect and talk, and smoke, and drink. 
This last occupation interested me in its present example. 

Among the passengers were some Englishmen who joined 
us at Dieppe. They formed a distinct group, and took their 
station, which they did not leave while I was on deck. 
They were representatives of their order, in the fullest use 
of the word ; broad, stout, heavy, with most rubicund faces. 
The blood seemed so near the surface, that you almost stood 
aside lest it should burst out upon you. They smoked and 
drank. The drinking was novel. They had provided 
among their small stores for the voyage, a very large and 
tall black bottle with an ample mon.th. One would take it 
in two hands, having removed the easy cork, and raising it 
to his mouth would take an exceedingly " long pull," then 



520 JOURNAL. 

with the palm of his hand or wrist he wiped the bottle's 
mouth and his own clean, and handed the lighter bottle to 
his neighbor, and he having had his drink to ttie next, till 
the circle was complete, — a very short cycle, I assure you. 
What was in the bottle I know not ; but it was easy to see 
that under its influences the laugh, and of course, the wit, 
grew stronger and stronger, and the complexion lost none of 
its colour. 

The wind grew fresher and fresher, and the sea rougher 
and rougher. The spray began to fly, until it was impossi- 
ble for me to weather it any longer, and I partook myself to 
the saloon. The prelusory notes of sickness had been 
pretty intelligibly sounded on deck, and it was with stagger 
and plunge I reached my " reserved seat," and stretched 
myself out for rest. Soon after, the ladies of the railway 
passage came in. They had found their own apartment so 
close, so uncomfortable, that they were forced to try the 
freer air of the general cabin. Then came down the tall 
young man, the companion of the older gentleman before 
spoken of. He was the sickest looking person I ever saw, 
for I never look into a glass when I am in like strait. He 
was soon provided with a sea bucket of unusual height, and 
sitting down, put it between his knees, resting his elbows on 
them, with his head between his hands, " meditating the 
deep profound below." And then such unearthly sounds 
as came from him, as of rushing mighty waters through a 
narrow channel, and roaring to find themselves free. I am 
conversant with the sounds of sickness, death-like in every- 
thing but its interposed groans. To me its effect was 
strange. I was cured at once of my own threatenings, 
showing how much sea-sickness has to do with the mind, 
according to the theories of certain medical dreamers, who 
were never sea-sick in their lives. In the midst of this 
scene, our Knights of the Order of the Great Bottle came 
down. It was dinner-time, and the table had been laid in 
the saloon for them and all other would-be eaters. The 



JOUHJSAL. 521 

tall young man was not one of these. Our rosy friends 
looked round at their fellow passengers, standing in a group 
just at the door of the saloon, as if struck death-still by the 
scene before them. Here were the ladies and others, lying 
about as best pleased them ; and there was the tall sea- 
bucket, and the tall young man. Said one, " Johnson, a 
fever hospital I " " Wilson," said another, " a fever hos- 
pital ! ! " more emphatic. The soup was put on the table, 
when there came from the bucket more appalling sounds 

than ever. " For 's sake," cried one, " what, what is 

hat ? " He almost looked pale. And I did not wonder. 
I thought that case was over ; though I saw there had not 
been the least change of place in that strange group, — 
bucket and company. I do not exaggerate, but the scene 
went on without interruption. I thought of the camel, and 
of his many stomachs, and how carefully he fills them to 
serve him across the desert. But the tall young man beat 
the camel all hollow. There was no end to him. Said I, 
he must have soma mysterious connection with the Channel, 
and yet surely he is not a sea nymph ! 

But our Englishry--' were not to be driven from a dinner 
in this way. They took their seats. These were sofas 
with moveable backs, — the backs being only used at meals. 
Everything was going on well. The soup was duly dis- 
cussed, and other courses followed. All of a sudden the 
boat made a most marked change in her position. A sea 
had struck her, or the wind, and over she came. I really 
think so far was she from horizontal, that her keel must 
have been out of water. The back of the sofa, which was 
towards me, was taken in an instant out of its place, and 
with it went two of our Englishry with an accompaniment of 
dishes and their contents, which attracted general regard. 
The scene "was irresistible, and except the hero of the bucket, 
everybody screamed with laughter. The red faced men 



* See Macaulay, passim. 
44* 



522 JOURNAL. 

absolutely roared in chorus. The fallen soon picked them- 
selves up, and the servants did the same for the dishes. 
Order ^vas restored, and on we drove for England. 

Newhayen. — It was late before we arrived at Newhaven, 
and the older and the younger gentlemen, with myself, con- 
cluded to rest there, and take an early train for London. 
At some distance, in the more settled part of the town, we 
were told was a good hoi^se. But there was another near 
to the steamers' and the railroad station, and we stopped 
there. The place was impromising and desolate. It was 
the jinisterre of the island in this direction, and close 
upon the sea. The house was so small that the broad sign- 
board which announced it to be the London Hotel, almost 
covered the front. We engaged the only two rooms which 
were devoted to travellers, and went into the saloon. It 
was for many purposes, — eating, smoking, and drinking. 
I wondered our stout friends of the voyage had not learned 
these particulars before we did. It was pleasant to get at 
rest, — to be relieved of that sickness which nothing but the 
sea can make, and in my case at least, nothing but the land 
can cure. We sat down. We took our ease in our inn. 
We had tea. We talked till after midnight. Said the 
gentleman, he with whom I had talked in the carriage and 
in the steamer, " I have passed so much time with you, sir, 
and have had so much pleasant talk, that I hope you will 
pardon, and grant the request I am about to make ; it is to 
learn your name. Mine is C. W." I gave him mine, 
when he very slowly rose and said, " Were you acquainted 
with the late Rev. Dr. Channing ? " I said yes, — that I was 
his brother. Mr. W. now advanced towards me, offered his 
hand, and asked the honor of mine. He spoke of the pleas- 
ure and instruction he had derived from your uncle's writ-. 
ings, and many more things with which I will not burden 
you. Said he finally, " I wish it were in my power to man- 
ifest my respect and regard for you; but in this house I 



JOURNAL. 523 

know of nothing I can offer you, not even a glass of wine. 
Will you do me the favour to drink a glass of ivhiskey 
punch 1 I promised, you know, in the beginning, that I 
would be "an honest chronicler," and if after this voyage 
from Dieppe, and my night at Newhaven, you question my 
claim to that character, I promise never to keep a journal 
for you again. 

The next morning found me early on the beach near the 
hotel. The night had been passed very comfortably, the 
bed was excellent, and its furniture as white and as perfectly 
clean, as you always find them to be in English inns. The 
breakfast was excellent ; and at seven, we left in the Parlia- 
ment train for London, at one penny a mile. Reached 
London, and stopped two or three days to attend to some 
business before I turned my face northward. This matter 
being dispatched, I started from Euston Square in the train 
for Edinburgh, where I duly arrived. 

How different everything in Great Britain from everything 
I had left across the Channel. Here is my native language, 
my ancestry. I am at home again. Yes, 

Cliatliam's language is my mother tongue. 

The faces I knew at once to be of my own race. They 
were the same, and the manners, and the dress. Well 
dressed people dress alike everywhere. The French, the 
German, the English coat fits the American. In many 
respects is England like home. You go from place to place 
without asking leave. Your passport rests quietly in your 
pocket. You came into the country without let or hin- 
drance, and so you may leave it. You hear the old noises 
in the streets, — the heavy rumbling of the overloaded wain, 
and the noisy persuasions of the weary horse, — the loud 
talk, — the frequent oath, — the occasional drunkenness, — 
home everywhere. In half a century things had changed, 
but men and women, — an entirely different generation, — 
were the same, as that of near fifty years ago. London and 



524 JOURNAL. 

Edinburgh I hardly knew, so changed were they. Streets, 
squares, bridges, — yes, London Bridge is not in its place. 
It has floated off down stream, and in Edinburgh the Old 
Town has become as the New. 

Edinburgh. — September. — Here am I in Edinburgh. I 
have always held this ancient city in cherished remembrance. 
Thought I, it is almost half a century gone since 1 lived at 
Steedman's Lodgings in College Street, opposite University 
Gate. I was then a young man, a student of the University. 
As I drove on towards Gibbs' in Prince St., I saw the Castle, 
and at once I felt I was at home again, — the home of our 
youth outlives the memory of all other homes. 

There, watcliing high the least alarms, 

Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar ; 
Like some bold veteran, grey in arms 

And marked with many a seamy scar. 

The Castle was as I had seen it so many years ago. But 
everywhere else change had done its work. There was still 
the valley between Prince Street and the Old Town, which 
I remembered as a rough, ill-looking place used for the city 
refuse in various kinds, — a nuisance which everybody 
wished abated, but for doing which nobody was prepared 
with a plan. One use I well remember it was put to. The 
keeper of a caravan of wild animals had selected it for a 
temporary stopping place for the exhibition of his strange 
charge. How altered now. It is a fine walk, — a garden, 
— a park, — with trees, and shrubs, and greensward, and 
flowers, — as carefully kept as a gentleman's private 
grounds. Trees were here which many years had matured, 
and which, in their vigourous life, promised for many, many 
years to come, to ornament and bless the city. Then, what 
adornment of the city on all hands with statues, monuments, 
public buildings, with all the means by which to address the 
heart and mind, — to develope power and taste, and thus 



JOURNAL. 525 

to give to tlie whole people an interest in what is worthy 
their care and reverence. You see everywhere, in this Old 
World this rejuvenescence by an uninterrupted progress in 
art ; and in the estimation of what is produced, and which 
is daily and hourly before the public eye. You mark the 
progress of the individual and of society, and rejoice that 
means of great cities and great states are wisely used. I 
took rooms at Gibbs', — got out my portfolio, arranged my 
table, and my drawers, and at once felt at home. After 
an early dinner I went out for a stroll, and to leave a card 
and letter, and in due time got back to my new quarters. 
My call was on Prof. S. I had been back an hour or 
two only, and was at work, when a knock at my door 
attracted my attention. The door was opened, and Mr. 
Gibbs himself, not his butler, came in with a gentleman 
who was introduced to me as Prof. S. 

I rose and said I was very, very glad to see him. He 
begged me at once to put my traps into my portmanteau, 
and to go immediately to his house, as I was, as he added, 
to be his guest. I said I should be most happy to visit him, 
but to bestow my tediousness upon him in the character of 
a guest was a matter to be thought of. He said it must not 
be thought of, — that his carriage was at the door, and that 
I must at once go with him home. But, said I, I have just 
taken rooms here, have arranged my affairs to stop here 
some days, or weeks. What am I to do, Mr. Gibbs, ad- 
dressing my host, who stood at the door with the Professor. 
You certainly have some voice in this matter. " Oh, Sir, 
said he, " we, here in Edinburgh, do pretty much as the 
Professor says, and I do not see but you are to go." So I 
rose, did as I was bid, and was soon at No. 52 with half my 
lu^ga^e, the balance being to follow me in the morning. 

CO O ' CI 

The Professor's house is very large, and has a succession oi 
rooms admirably arranged for family, friends, library, and 
the vast amount of daily consultations, which from half-past 
one to half-past five occur in it. Everything was on a gen- 



520 JOITKNAL. 

erous scale. The library is very large, — the book-cases of 
oak, in Gothic, are in excellent taste. Everything here as 
elsewhere being evidently arranged by a man of taste, and 
for entire convenience. Professor S. finds time to give to 
other matters beside the strictly professional. Archaeological 
inquiries are favourites, and his hosts of friends furnish him 
constantly with cui'ious relics of the former days in Scottish 
and other history. The Roman period, which is still marked 
by prominent Roman remains in Scotland, as walls, &c., 
furnish him excellent means for the study of the history 
of that early time. He is constantly getting contributions 
to other favourite studies, and his large wealth gives to him 
the means of making the most of them, in drawings, en- 
gravings, monographs, &c., of both curiosity and value. 
His house is filled with presents of all sorts in nature and 
art, — in books, pictures, engravings, — plants, animals, &c., 
&c. The books are of great value, — among them folio 
copies of important works, — old books, or new ones, 
— late editions of the curious in various departments of 
literature. These are all read, — marked, — noted, — writ- 
ten upon and about, as if their owner's life was one of purely 
literary leisure. And all with ample time for making ex- 
periments relating to the most recondite inquiries in physi- 
ology, for the gratification of his ardent desire to advance 
the domain of that noble science. I cannot tell where he 
has failed to look, — to seek, to find, and you discover it all 
in ways so pertinent to something in hand, or talk, and yet 
so natural, so simple, that, as I said before, it all seems 
purely accidental, — as having diverted him from no other 
and permanent interest. And it has not. Look at his pro- 
fessional life, — see how full of work, hard work, it is, — 
which is not abated night or day, — in storm or shine. See 
him with the daily crowds of patients, filling rooms, and 
occupying him from noon to six, dinner time, and then see 
him leave you without a word, and no matter how late you 
sit up waiting for him, you must not go to bed without get- 



JOURNAL. 527 

ting his hearty good night, and to find him at breakfast at 
half-past eight next morning, the first at table, unless he has 
been called from bed, and has not yet got home. With 
^ every sort of interruption, — apparently in the midst of all 
confusions, you see a method running through it all, and 
that he has a time, as well as a place, for everything, — and 
that he is never in a hurry. It makes no odds who is the 
person. If he is wanted, and another engagement is not on 
hand, off he goes, as if the most important interest demanded 
his time. And just such an interest is seen in what he has 
in hand. What is fit to occupy him, is always with him 
an important affair, and he treats it accordingly. I came 
to his residence towards evening. I had just returned 
from a journey of four hundred and fifty miles, most of it 
by night, the whole night. He asked me to accompany 
him to a professional consultation in the case of a poor 
woman, which of course I did, and with great pleasure. It 
was about twelve, midnight, w^hen we got home. W^e w-ent 
to bed, but though I found he had been called out at night, 
he was at breakfast as usual, and at noon we took rail for 
Glasgow, fifty miles, — open boat to Ellensburg, six miles, 
— coach to Luss, nine miles, — steamer to Tarbit, on Loch 
Lomond, making about one hundred miles by all sorts of 
conveyances, and over various ways. At Tarbit we re- 
mained all night. Got good accommodations, though the 
house was full, and a sort of double bedded chamber was 
assigned us if we would take it. It w^as soon understood 
that Prof. S. was in the house. At once he was consulted 
about the hotel keeper's daughter's case, and then about the 
keeper himself. He asked me to attend the case as con- 
sulted physician. This of course I did. Everything now 
changed. It was found there were two bed-chambers empty, 
and these were now assigned to us. We were punctually 
called at six, — got breakfast, and had our carriage at the 
door before eight, and were on the way to Ardarroch, the 
seat of , Esq., most splendidly and beautifully situated 



528 JOUKNAL. 

on the eastern side of Loch Long. Before leaving, we 
called for our bills, and were informed that there were no 
bills against us. We had been professionally consulted, and 
of course, as was said, there was no charge against us. ^ 
" There," said the Prof., " that is the first money you have 
made since you left home." I said it was so, and that I 
was much pleased with it, and especially v/ith the manner 
of making it. 

Before going to bed, we wandered down to the shore of 
Loch Lomond, and saw it in the darkness and silence of 
night. The hotel boats were on the shore, and we took our 
seats in one of them, looking for the moon which seemed 
rising above the mountain, Ben Lomond ; but a heavy 
mass of cloud heaved itself up faster than came the moon, 
and like prudent men after a hard day's work, we returned 
about eleven to the inn. I say day's work. The day you 
remember had its night. 

Ardahkoch. — Our way to Ardarroch, {the e7id of the 
point,) lay through scenery which has been celebrated in 
song and story, and which arrests the attention of all travel- 
lers. We were most of the way on tSe borders of a lake, 
on a road quite above it, which gave to it and to its sur- 
roundings, just that indistinctness which is an element of 
the picturesque. The heron could be seen skimming its 
waters, but too far down for perfect vision. The bordering 
mountains varying in direction, height, distance, and mas- 
siveness, — these constituted the objects of paramount inter- 
est in this Highland morning drive. There were clouds 
above the mountains, and on the highest a mist now and 
then veiled them. But the early sun was declaring his 
power in the broad bright light he would now and then shed 
upon some salient point, or over a broader surface, producing 
effects of exquisite beauty. I was glad again to be among 
these brother mountain groups, 

" rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun." 



JOUEXAL. 529 

This is the last mountain passage in my rapid, but varied 
travel over Europe. Nobody but he who has for a time 
lived among mountains, can understand how sad is the last 
look which rests upon them, and the latest word which says 
to them farewell. 

My Highland Sunday was a marked day. The air, the 
moderate sunlight, the place, were all fitted to make such 
a day. Locb Long communicates with the Clyde, and is a 
tide lake. Its salt waters are perfectly clear, and reflect 
mountain and sky without loss. The mountains lie along 
its whole length on both sides, and are constantly changing 
the prospect. You look up and down the Lake, and may 
study the scenery under the greatest variety of aspects. At 
the termination of the scene, you have farther ranges of 
mountains, rising one above another, till the last and the 

highest is reached. Mr. 's place is on a table land, a 

few feet above the tide water, with a sea wall. This, how- 
ever, does not always prevent the encroachments of the Lake. 
He showed me places where the wall had been broken into 
by the winter sea. The house is strictly Elizabethan in its 
style, and is the best style for such a j)lace. Its various 
fronts, roofs, pointed gables, are in harmony with the sur- 
rounding variety. The lawns are deep green, and are kept 
in the true velvet softness and smoothness. His grounds are 
covered with trees of all the kinds -which will bear the cli- 
mate, and are in excellent health and rich growth. He has 
a grapery, flower conservatory, and as fine vegetable and 
flower gardens as I have seen anywhere. The surface of the 
ground is necessarily varied by the mountain character of the 
region. But so slight are the changes in elevation, that the 
place seems like a resting place in mountain manufLicture, so 
to speak, and these splendid acres to have been the product 
of the repose. The holly, — the heather, — the fir, — are 
here in every variety. I have nowhere seen finer hedges. 
They are absolutely grand in their height, breadth, massive- 
ness. Care has been taken to introduce here foreign trees, 
45 



530 JOURNAL. 

from, almost all climates, and they do perfectly well. The 
Rhododendron is luxuriant beyond its best growths else- 
"where, and there is room for all its varieties, and all its de- 
velopments. I cannot omit to mention the success of the 
fruit gardens and orchards. The pear, the plum, the apple, 
the peach, do excellently well. Here my most kind host 
and hostess pass most of their time. He made his fortune 
in China, and remembered Mr. J. P. C, Messrs. S., and 
others, and was very happy to hear of them again. He left 
with a sound liver, twenty or more years ago, and came here 
and planted his stake, and seems perfectly contented with 
his lot. His lady is a most agreeable person, and wears her 

shining silver hair with as much grace as does our . 

She said that Mr. did not consider gray hair to be in 

the bond, but as he has kindly adopted her livery, the 
change does not disturb him. I was very much struck with 
the persistency of expression, voice, manner, under circum- 
stances calculated to change them all. Mr. is a per- 
fect Highlander. He wears the bonnet with its button, and 
moves and speaks as did the loftiest of his clan. I was 
wholly delighted with him ; not because of his hospitality, 
which is boundless, but for his manly, courteous manner, 
and his strong, excellent native sense, and his good cul- 
ture, which in the most unaffected way constantly manifested 
themselves. Our party was a rare one. It consisted of 
medical men, all attached to the Edinburgh University but 
one, who is of the London University. 

With the exception of the gentleman of the London LTni- 
versity, who left us at Hamilton on our way back to Edin- 
burgh, I have seen these gentlemen almost every day. I 
have seen them in their several callings, practically showing 
their power. With one I am living, and am constantly 
gaining much useful knowledge in my profession. It may 
seem strange to you, when I say I have read his books, his 
honoured gifts, at home, again and again, that I had not got 
a fuller idea of what he was doing for the relief of human 



JOURNAL. 531 

suffering, — "how large, I may say how vast, arc his con- 
tributions to medical and general science, and with what a 
spirit he does all that he is called on to do. It was past 
breakfast hour when we reached Ardarroch, and we had 
breakfasted at the inn two hours before. But the host or- 
dered another for us, and the mountain air and drive 
gave us an appetite for this second morning meaL Noon 
brought lunch, and six brought dinner. 

After breakfast, it was arranged that the n>ountain called 
the Fairy should be ascended. I declared off, as did Mr. 

. The rest of the party went. It was a cool, fine day, 

with occasional sun. With a glass we saw our friends on 

the top of the mountain, from the 23lace which Mr. and 

myself traversed in every direction, and with the greatest 
pleasure, speaking for myself. We passed most of the day 
together, until dinner hour approaching we separated to 
dress. The mountaineers soon returned, and a rapid toi- 
let brought us together a short time before dinner. We 
were much occupied with each other's day's occupations. 

Mr. and I reported our " whereabout," * and showed 

how pleasant the day had been. Our friends from the 
mountain gave their experiences. At dinner, a very pleas- 
ant conversation was continued, new ones were started, and 
after this way the evening slipped away. 

Bright and early were we up. Breakfast was soon an- 
nounced, — was dispatched, — the host's carriage was at the 
door, and in and on it five Professors, who had just said 
farewell to as hospitable, excellent people as any of them 
knew, and to a place as beautiful and grand as any reasona- 
ble person could wish to see, and took up their return to 
Edinburgh. Our road was to the Gareloch, and there we 
found the steamer in which we were to make way to 

*I say "whereabout"' because Shakespeare says so. American 
quoters always say " whereabouts." Whereabout is au adverb, and 
knows no plural. We used to say, "Whereabouts are you going ?" The 
word was popular, but was not, and is not, English. 



532 JOUENAL. 

Greenock. This we did all in good time, and a crowded com- 
pany did we make. We took rail at Greenock for Glasgow, 
and tlience to Edinburgh, where at about twelve, noon, we 
safely arrived. How pleasant had been these days, Saturday, 
Sunday, Monday. Prof. S. at once went to work in his 
carriage, taking me with him to see all he could show me of 
his practice, while I read in his carriage when I did not 
visit with him, and this I did every day of my visit to him. 
At half-past one his consultations at home begin, and last 
till nearly or quite six. This is his least busy season, but 
as many as between forty and fifty have been counted ; 
on one day more. His patients are arranged in two classes, 
— those who pay, and those who do not. This prevents much 
embarrassment, which would necessarily arise in learning the 
condition of each patient, and hence much time would be 
lost, and it is very important to prevent this. When he 
began this system of home clinics, for such they strictly are, 
his house was filled at all hours, so that it was impossible to 
keep any order. People would come at seven, A. M., in 
order to be first. They would get breakfast at six, or 
earlier, and disturb their own families much. To prevent 
this, he fixed the hour at half-past one to half-past five. 
The patients of the two divisions are in difi'erent, but 
equally large rooms. They draw lots for priority, have 
tickets, and come in as called, and so the most perfect order 
prevails. 

Everybody knows what are Prof. S.'s hours, and every- 
body observes them. He has an assistant, who writes 
prescriptions to his dictation, directions, letters, &c., and 
also attends to cases. He examines cases daily when there 
is occasion to do so. From long experience, and constant 
observation, — the habit of recording cases, — and of dis- 
tinguishing them with all the accuracy in his power, he is 
able to arrive at conclusions in the cases before him, in a 
very short time, or to make his diagnosis. I see most, or 
many of his cases, — examine them after him, and I have 



JOURNAL. 53,3 

again and again been struck, in new ones, how true is his 
diagnosis. He proceeds at once to the treatment. If an 
operation is to be, he does it at once. Applications of reme- 
dies are made, and prescriptions given, with directions, and 
the patient is desired to call in a week, fortnight, in two 
days, &c., as circumstances may indicate. At times the 
case is written down from the answers of patients to ques- 
tions. This is always the case if it be a new case, or it is 
probable that changes may be required in treatment, or 
the effects of treatment noted. Some notion may be got of 
this portion of Prof. S.'s in-door, or home professional life. 
He goes through this great labour quietly, and methodically, 
and with as gentle, kind, cheerful spirit as man ever mani- 
fested. The moral character of the daily service in disease, 
is quite as striking as is the professional. The moral pre- - 
sides over the whole, and renders it one of the most inter- 
esting matters for observation that can occur. I have been 
utterly surprised at its executive patience, its efficient 
activity. Here are the poor and the rich together, with no 
other distinctions than such as will best accommodate both. 
And I can say, from a long and wide observation, that there 
is no difference in their treatment. The great fact of each 
in Prof. S.'s regard, is the fact that disease exists, which 
it is the physician's business to investigate, and to try to 
remove. He knows what is the prospect of success or of 
failure, and makes his prognosis accordingly. But even 
when the worst is announced, it is not spoken of as utterly 
hopeless, and something is done, all is done, for present 
comfort, when nothing may be done for cure. I am sur- 
prised again at the variety of disease which congregate at 
No. 52 ; and of the number which is presented in each 
kind. It is this which gives character to the whole, and 
makes these clinics the very best schools. I have been 
every day a pupil here. I have every day learned much ; 
yes, a great deal, which will aid me in all my future profes- 
sional, yes, moral life. I had designed to visit Ireland. 
45* 



534 JOTTRNAL. 

But so few days remained to me, that I was sure that the 
visit could amount to nothing important, and I concluded to 

remain at Prof. S 's house, in the midst of his home 

practice, and to visit with him abroad such patients as he 
could show me. 

Wherever we went the Professor was received with the 
same bright welcome, the same cheerful face, and I thought 
this made the beauty of his professional life. One was glad 
to see him so soon again. Another had been waiting with 
such patience as could be commanded for a visit. But with 
all was the appearance, and the consciousness, that some- 
thing good was to comxC from the call. He had time for 
everything. Took his seat, and with his " come along 
now," " how are you," — "how have you been," &c., &c., 
and which was always answered to satisfy perfectly the 
various objects in view. There was directness in his ques- 
tions, or directions to the patient, but it was so quiet, so 
easy, that though time was pressing on new engagements, 
it seemed that the present one only occupied his mind. 
There was persuasion with command, or demand in such 
proportions, that the patient was only anxious to do the 
very best for himself, or for herself, and for the Doctor. 
In this way, or by this manner, which seems no manner 
at all, Prof. S. is able to do a great deal in a short 
time. His coachman understands by a hint where he is to 
go, and goes rapidly through his various service. As we 
pass along some object of interest is at hand, the Botanic 
Garden, — a ruin, — a hill, — a beautiful prospect. He 
pulls the string, opens the door which lets down the step, 
and " come away," tells you there is something for you to 
see, — something to please you, — and there is time enough 
to see it. " I visit here, and for ten minutes I will leave 
you, — go down there, and you will find something." OS 
he goes to his patient, and off I go to see what he has indi- 
cated. The Professor is well made for dispatch. He is 
short, stout, — with small feet, and his step is short and 



JOXJENAL. 535 

very quick. He is of excellent age for vigour, — about 
thirty-nine, and " goes ahead " of all walkers. I have almost 
to run somewhat, not to lose him. Let me finish his picture. 
You have his length, but not his full length. His head is 
large, — covered with a profusion of black hair, which 
obeys its instincts, and more strikingly so when he thrusts 
his very small hand into and all over it. His forehead is of 
good height, but the hair grows low upon it ; and to me this 
is the most becoming manner of its growth, and the antique, 
the Apollo, the Clyte, &c., support my taste. His face is 
broad, of fair length, and its expression just such as such 
mind and heart as his always produce. His eyes are sin- 
gularly loquacious, and always begin to talk before he utters 
a word. His knowledge is more various than I have before 
met with. Nothing escapes him. Science and literature 
are his pleasures. Archaeology is a favourite pursuit ; and 
his friends frequently send him books, and specimens, 
which help his studies. I never saw so many presents. 
I went up last night late. " I must make some visits," 
said he, " say at eleven." Off drove his coach. This morn- 
ing, before anybody else was up, I went below for my spec- 
tacles. On the side-board was a basket of fine peaches, 
" which was not so before." In the morning bouquets 
came in. I could fill pages with a list of such off'erings as 
are daily poured in. He has game at every meal. " Our 
friends," said one, " keep us supplied with game." His 
family pass the summer in a very pleasant place a few 
miles from the city, but his house affairs go on by them- 
selves very much as of themselves, and knew how, and 
are all in perfect order. Said he to me when he car- 
ried me bodily from my hotel, "I am a bachelor, — no 
women, — but ' come away,' you shall have the best I have." 
Night before last he was called into the country. I found 
him at table in the morning, and with a heavy, but hearty 
yawn, said he, "I had a hard drive last night, over a stony 
road, in a carriage without springs. I changed it, but was 



536 JOUKNAL. 

no better off, and I feel well pounded." This was not a 
complaint, but an experience, and as soon as breakfast was 
over, eaten as it was with all sorts of interruptions, he was 

ready for his visit to the Duchess of , and every body 

else. He eats little, and as if almost unconsciously of 

the function. In this he constantly reminds me of 

. He receives a great deal of money, I have heard. 



But he seems wholly regardless of money, and, as I have 
farther heard, it is only lately that he has begun to accu- 
mulate property. He is paid at the visit, or consultation, 
which saves him from one of the most inconvenient offices, 
charging and collecting fees. We feel both the inconve- 
nience and loss in America. I have seen fees paid him. It 
is when the patient is leaving him, and by offering the hand 
for farewell, the fee is deposited in his. I really think if 
he were subjected to our system, he would get no money at 
all. " At night," said a patient of his, whom he sent to 
me when she came to America, " his pockets are emptied. 
He knows nothing of their contents before ; and so his 
money is cared for." I said his meals are often inter- 
rupted. His butler brings in cards, notes, letters. " There," 
says he, and lays by note after note. Then two or three 
ladies come in. If he be not in, down they sit on the sofa, 
and take up books, or newspapers. Then gentlemen, with 
or without ladies, appear. They are always asked to table 

by Miss , his sister-in-law, or somebody else. When 

the Professor is at table he places them. But he is reading 
and eating, — or giving bread to a spotted JDanish coach- 
dog named Billy, of fine size, and a universal pet. I feed 
him always. Professor S. talks to the comers. Then learns 
of strangers what they want, gets their residence, if visits 
are wanted, or goes into a room hard by and sees them 
alone. His house is very large, and full of rooms, — and 
always seems inhabited. At length he gets ready to go 
out. " Come away," says he to me. I run up to put on a 
different coat, to get hat, &c., and always find him hat on, 



JOURNAL. 537 

at the door, ready to run down the steps for the morning's 
work. This is the way every day. He wears a narrow- 
brimmed hat, and puts it on, well back, and so shows his 
whole face and part of his head. His dress is always black, 
with a remarkably nicely arranged white neckcloth, with a 
very carefully made bow in front. So you see he is always 
dressed. I think, M., you would want to give the hat a 
different set. You could not improve the rest of the toi- 
let. 

Now, is it not a great privilege to be the inmate of such 
an establishment as this. Is it not a thing to prize, to be 
the companion of a man so wholly devoted to others, and 
yet who is so cheerful, so constantly happy himself? You 
are admitted by such a man into the society of his thought, 
and of his act. He always talks to the purpose, and yet he 
is the least of a formalist of any man with whom I have been 
acquainted. He has large information, for he is habitually 
an observer, and a student ; and yet he has no pedantry, no 
tobtrusion of learning for its, or rather his own sake, but 
that his companions may be helped by what he knows. He 
is almost daily making new observations, discovering some- 
thing new, or using the known in a new way. And yet he 
is not in the remotest degree a dogmatist. It is not to sup- 
port a doctrine that he talks, but to afford you an oppor- 
tunity to speak more fully of it, to get knowledge from 
you, or to aid you by the knowledge he commvmicates. I 
have been chiefly a questioner in the society of Prof. S., 
and I always have got good answers. If he has no answer, 
— if he cannot explain the unexplained in my own mind, 
he turns himself round in his coach, for it is in driving I 
have the best of his society, and says, " 1 don't know, — I 
cannot explain that." He will add, " I have had the same 
difficulty you have, — and cannot clear it up." One ad- 
vantage has arisen out of this intercourse with Prof. S., 
which declares itself to me every day. I am conscious of a 
daily review of my own professional life, — of thought, of 



538 jornNAL. 

reading, and of study. I speak constantly of books, of cases, 
of results of treatment. Professor S. has read all, and infi- 
nitely more than I have, and yet how small is his study*. 
" Here is my study," said he the other night, as I was pass- 
ing his sleeping room, on m.y way to bed, " come along." 
In I went. The room was small. There was his bed, and 
in place of a night-stand, there was at the head of his bed 
a book-stand, or case, with two or three shelves, about a 
foot and a half wide, filled with books. The filling took 
but few. Taking hold of a moveable gas burner, he brought 
it forward, so that he could easily read on his pillow. 
" Here," said he, " is my study. Here I read at night." 
I only said, " What a privilege it is to be able ta read in 
this way. I never could," — and then, " good night." I 
heard his night-bell almost every night. When I recollect 
how much work this man does, how his days are filled and 
crowded with all sorts of professional duty and service, I 
am surprised that he should make his study of his bed ; 
and yet this simple incident had in it an explanation of the 
wide knowledge which is acquired under difficulties. I saw 
in it how intense was his interest in all which was before 
him ; and did no longer wonder at his success ; and more, 
I no longer wondered at his unconsciousness of his own 
acquisitions, so that when he gives them to you, you almost 
think that he is speaking for another, rather than for, or out 
of, himself. Among his other labours, he edits a medical 
journal, and is himself a constant contributor. This review 
of one's professional life, in the intercourse of such a 
man, I confess, is singularly attractive. You ask if he has 
read such a book. He says he has. You now speak of 
something which strongly impressed you at your first, and, 
may be, only reading of it, describe a case, or dwell on a 
doctrine, and ask if he remembers this or these, and if his 
experience supports the doctrine. I suppose that in many 
cases our distinctness of memory regarding some point, or 
points in a book, may be because what impressed itself 



JOURNAL. 539 

SO strongly, was the only novelty, or important fact in the 
book. How rare is it, even in books of much size, to find 
a page, or a sentence, which will " stick," as somebody 
says, or hold its place in the mind. The reading of mere 
repetitions of what others have said, and which we already 
know, makes no addition to knowledge. It is nothing more 
than putting upon another, so to speak, its exact fellow, — 
piling up the same things, — a most useless species of 
overlapping. But the book of which we have so little 
recollection, may have a great deal for another mind. When 
that mind is addressed on that book, much will often be 
brought before us which had scarcely been noticed, or only 
to trace its resemblance to that already acquired. It is now 
presented under new aspects, and may be to us as new or 
original knowledge. In these works of very early study, the 
gray fathers of medicine are again with us ; and in talking 
of, and with them, the former days return, and age feels 
again the warmth, and the vigour of early manhood. I do 
not know when I have had more of that enjoyment which 
comes of study, and its gifts, than when, with this living 
Professor, I was looking back for nearly half a century of 
my own intellectual effort, and in this way consulting again 
the earliest sources of knowledge. 

I was admitted to the hospitalities of Edinburgh. We 
had a dinner at Prof. C.'s. He has a foremost name among 
those who have extended the limits of his branch of medi- 
cine, by laborious investigations. I had long read his 
books with deep interest, and owned one of his principal 
writings. He is of exceeding gentlemanly bearing ; and in 
some reserve, which sometimes attaches to men of that 
class, may, for the first, be thought distant and cold. But 
I had seen him at Ardarroch ; passed a part of two days 
with him, and had abundant opportunity to correct the im- 
pressions of the first bow. I found him social, agreeable, 
alive to the ludicrous, and to its expression. His opinions 
were always valuable, and extended to many sciences. 



540 JOUBIfAL. 

Geology has occupied his attention, and much very useful 
information was gained from him, concerning the formation 

of the Highlands. The dinner at Prof. C 's house was 

perfect in its kind, and the company embraced many of the 
distinguished men of Edinburgh. The medical life is very 
pleasant here, especially as it has so much of its charac- 
ter from the position of its members. All who are attached 
to the University, or have a public position, by reputation, 
or place, are prosperous, and live in very nice style. Much 
of their time is passed in consultation engagements, which 
are both lucrative and important. Some have town and 
country house, and drive coach and pair. 

The next day I dined with Prof. S..,. This gentleman 
has great reputation in surgery, both as a science and an art. 
His power is thus alike in diagnosis and practice. 1 have 
seen him when both have been in requisition. He is very 
simple in his methods, — entirely without show or bustle, 
— you see that he is doing an every-day work, and that he 
does it admirably. A Avound of some inches length was 
left after the removal of a tumor, a strictly local degene- 
ration, for which an operation was done. Sutures, eight in 
number, were used without adhesive straps. The patient 
has done well. Prof. S , , . lives a mile or two from the 
city. He has a very fine place, and is very fond of it. His 
garden in all its departments is in high order. He spares 
no money in its management. He lives here, but has a 
house in town to which he comes about ten, A. m., attends 
at the Hospital, and to such other professional engagements 
as are in hand. The country about Prof. S. . . ,'s place is 
among its attractions. Hills, or moderate mountains, sur- 
round it, and are well wooded, giving variety to all its pros- 
pects. 

At a dinner one day, our company was various. 
Among them was the Principal of the University. He is 
always addressed as Principal. He asked me if I knew 
Rev. Dr. Lowell, of Boston, and spoke of him very kindly, 



JOURNAL. 541 

and with much respect. He knew the late Rev. Dr. Cod- 
man. I was very much pleased with the Principal. His 
manner was quiet, grave, without dulness, and as conversa- 
tion was, so was he. We had a very lively guest, an En<T- 
lish gentleman, well educated, and communicative. He 
is quite a person, is highly connected, and acquainted with 
everybody. He spoke of the death of the Count D'Orsay 
as a great loss, and really seemed troubled by his death. 
Everybody who knows the Count, what he was, and what 
was his life, may be somewhat surprised at lamentation at 
his death. He had died, not daily, as said a great one of 
old, — he was morally dead, worse than dead, years ago, and 
continued so till his natural death occurred. But the Hon. 

Mr. was full of all sorts of local and contemporary 

knowledge, and kept the people alive whether or no. When 
he learned that I was from America, he was very desirous to 

hear about Miss , of , with whom and 

her infirm mother he had become acquainted some years 

ago in , and where he had lived with them, or at the 

same hotel. He spoke of the young lady in the highest 
terms, — of her accomplishments, — of her personal attrac- 
tions, — and especially, of her singularly beautiful hand. I 
made some question as to Miss 's being the lady de- 
scribed. He was sure she was the same. She was an 
heiress, he said, large estate, — no incumbrance, &c., &c., 
and added that he had advised a particular friend, a capital 

fellow, to offer forthwith to Miss . His friend told him, 

with some embarrassment, that it was impossible, for he was 
already engaged. So it went on, new courses, and new 
topics, until it was time for us to go. Carriages were an- 
nounced. We took our leave. 

My next visit was to , about ten miles from Edin- 
burgh, for dinner, and to , a mile or two further, 

for bed. This was a most pleasant excursion. Mr. and 

Mrs. of , live on Carberry Hill. Hence the name 

of the place. Here it was that Queen Mary, of Scotland, 
46 



542 JOUE.NAL. 

fought her last battle, and at Mary's Mount, so called, and 
to which I walked, she delivered herself to her insurgent 
subjects, and was by them taken thence, and confined in a 
castle on an island, in Loch Leven, and of whose escape 

thence Scott has given account. We reached not 

long before dinner, but had time to go to the battle field, 
and trace the progress there, and thence, of the Vv'retched 
Queen. But our great interest was in the host and his 
most pleasing lady, who, both of them, by dinner, and by 
speech, did all in their power to make their guests entirely 
at home, and so, as happy, and as merry as might be. 

Mr. is a tall, noble looking Scotch gentleman farmer, 

who has work in him, and knows how to use it. His cottage 
is embosomed in trees, and shrubs, and flowers, — nothing 
can be more luxuriant, nothing more beautiful. Said Mr. 

, " twenty-five years ago, this place was as barren as 

yon field. There was not a tree or shrub upon it. It was 
awful dreary. I went to work upon it, and here it is." He 
has a good face. His complexion is the product of health 
and exercise. The colour is your true nectarine red, — 
his hair gray, and, in places, white, is in perfect harmony 
with his manly carriage, and face. He has the Scotch 
brogue in rich perfection, and is not afraid to use it. A 
niece played Scotch strathspeys, reels, and all sorts of gay 
and solemn airs. He could hardly keep his chair. His 
hands, feet, head, were full of music, and the more she 
played the deeper was his interest. At twelve our car- 
riages were ordered, the lamps lighted, and ofi" we went to 

Prof. 's place, w^here we passed the night. 

Yesterday, Saturday, was another day for marking. 
Drove about with the Professor, — visited patients, — the 
Insane Asylum, &c., &c. The Asylum is a large establish- 
ment, and in excellent management. Its grounds are very 
extensive, and arranged for the best comfort and pleasure of 
the patients. A portion is cultivated, and here the insane 
are at work, cheerfully and usefully all round. The place 



JOUENAL. 543 

has been built by adclitions, some quite recent, but the 
building is symmetrical, and very handsome. I went 
over the house. It will contain about five hundred patients, 
and has now over four hundred. They are divided into two 
classes, — the poor, and those not poor. All pay. Those 
who can pay one or more thousand dollars a year, have 
elegant rooms, — carriage, horses, &c., to suit. Others pay 
less. Some are paid for by a parish, — a town, — or by 
friends, — but all pay. This is the plan of our McLean 
Asylum, near Boston. The arrangements pleased me much. 
There are dormitories, instead of single rooms. In the 
McLean are separate rooms, one for each patient. The 
assistant physician told me the success of the Edinburgh plan 
was good. It extends to all classes, except the furious, and 
the rich, and for these separate rooms are provided. The 
dormitories contain about twenty beds each. Bedsteads are 
of iron, and bedding very neat. Floors are not painted, but 
are kept very clean and white by daily scrubbing. For 
rainy weather a large room is prepared with wire netting over 
the windows, to prevent accidents, and here all may walk, 
play, and amuse themselves. This room is of great height, 
and ample dimensions, and is excellently well lighted and 
ventilated. It much pleased me. The chapel is large, with 
a piano, and moveable seats. Three quarters to a half 
attend the services regularly. The chapel is also for dancing, 
parties, &c. The seats can be easily put aside, and then 
ample space exists for other things. The kitchens, for cook- 
ing meat, and for preparing and cooking soups, vegetables, 
&c., were well constructed, and places, in various rooms or 
stories, are provided for raising the food by ropes and pul- 
leys to the several eating halls or saloons. This saves much 
trouble and expense of attendants, &c. Heating is by hot 
water pipes, which answer better than any other means for 
accomplishing the object. Bathing, hot and cold, is amply 
provided for. Employment is sought for in many ways. 
There is a tailor's room, and men were at work in such 



544 jounNAL. 

numbers, that all the clothing and mending for the house is 
done in it. Women have their working rooms for sewing, 
knitting, &c., and were as industriously employed, and as 
cheerful, and healthy, as any women doing such work ever 
are. I think the insane are better off, in this regard, than 
are those who are well ; for they do not depend on the 
Avretched v/ages of such service to support themselves, and 
their dependant children. The air of the house is pure, — 
health good, — very little mortality, and the recoveries, I 
think, about forty per cent. There is a hospital for men, 
and women. I visited the last. But few were here, and 
mostly cases of consumption. This, the physician told me, 
was most frequently the cause of death in the house. 
There v/as one case of universal paralysis. The patient was 
very fleshy; and appeared to suffer nothing from disease. 
A dinner engagement was in hand, and at about six we 
dressed, and set off for Pinkie House in Musselburgh, six or 
more miles from Edinburgh. Now this is a Castle, but in 
no sense a ruin. It is of great size, has in it about sixty 
apartments, one of which is one hundred and twenty feet 
long. I went to the top of the highest tow^er, and land and 
sea and sky were before me in measureless profusion. 
What much attracted me were the trees and lawns. The 
trees are old, large, but in perfect health. I have not met 
with richer foliage, or of deeper hue. The hedges are in 
proportion to other things, of variegated holly, thorns of all 
kinds, and of great size. You could get some notion of the 
extent of the castle from this point, and could not fail to 
be surprised at its dimensions. I speak of this more par- 
ticularly, because generally these defences are small, some- 
times a tower only, and perched upon a mountain, or steep, 
and almost inaccessible rock. On the Khine and Danube are 
many of them of this description. But here is " ample 
room and verge enough." The stone stair cases form 
special objects of interest. This comes of their number, 
which is great. They occur at all the angles, at all the 



JOURNAL. 545 

divisions of tlie castle, and are so arranged as not to disturb 
the interior architecture at all, every room, and every suit of 
rooms being approached without intervening landings, or 
being disturbed by stairways. This leaves the central por- 
tions of the castle of easy, continuous access, throwing the 
various sections into groups, which allow of very agreeable 
accommodation for its inhabitants, and ready means for de- 
fence. 

Pinkie House is distinguished for its historical associations. 
It was concerned in the civil wars, and its large hall was a 
hospital for the wounded in the great battle of Pinkie, which 
was fought between the armies of Charles I. and Cromwell. 
At a later time, in '45, Charles Stuart established himself 
here, after the battle of Preston Pans, and held his court in 
the Great Hall. Somerset, after his victory of Musselburgh, 
held court in the Great Hall of Pinkie House. But how 
great is the change. It is now the peaceful abode of a 
family which offers its hospitality to its friends, and most 
kindly extends it to the stranger. I have everywhere met 
with a cordial welcome from those whose acquaintance I have 
made in these distant lands. I shall place among the chiefest 
of those the family in Pinkie House, and I trust I shall not 
forget the visit I made there. I have said little of that 
or those things which are related to the domestic life of such 
a place. The furniture is excellent. The library is very 
large, filling a room admirably fitted for its accommodation. 
Its architecture is. Gothic, carved oak; and tables, &c., are 
in exact keeping with their objects. Pictures abound. 
They are many of them portraits of the family who own the 
castle, and go back at least two hundred years, being the 
work of Jameson, a distinguished artist of his time. The 
present owner of the castle has resided in Italy, and has 
placed here works of art for its adornment. The present 
occupant, who is not the owner, has his own property here. 
Thus he has a library distinct from that which belongs to 
the castle. 

46* 



546 JOURNAL. 

It was a privilege to sit in the place of kings and of 
nobles, — where James V. had his abode, and where he died 
of a broken heart Was it not a privilege to be the guest 
of those who adorn, and make so perfect that, which, with- 
out such aids, would command our reverence. I am very 
glad that I have had opportunities to see life in new aspects, 
— developed under various, and, to me, novel institutions, 
and manifesting itself after new forms. Domestic life, in 
this view of it, gets an interest quite as important as does 
that which is the product of civil and political agencies. I 
can freely say, that as far as I have been able to read the 
history spread out before me in the last few months of 
foreign travel, I have seen an amount of social, domestic, 
individual comfort, and contentedness with situation, which 
I had not looked to see. The differences are constituted 
very much by the external, and with this, and its peculiari- 
ties, accommodations are seen more or less everywhere, 
making the average of life, — of its blessings, and its woes, 
a condition so well balanced in its various presentments, 
that it must take m^uch time, and very wise effort, greatly, 
or usefully, to change it. I have remarked this, also, in my 
large intercourse with strangers, in whom there would seem 
to be, and is, so much that is characteristic, — make up a 
whole, — that however different habits and manners may 
be from your own, the distinctions never disturb you. 

Sunday. — I went to church with my Edinburgh friends. 
I went to hear one of the most eloquent, if not the most 

eloquent, of the Scottish clergy. Dr. , of the Free 

Church. Eight or ten years ago a division was made 
in the Church. Its cause was the assertion of the right 
of the Court of Session to j)resent clergymen to livings ; 
and that their presentment should be final, and hold, 
whatever might be the objections of a parish to the person 
presented. No matter what the moral character of the 
individual might be, if the Court of Session should give him 
the living, the parish should have him, and he the church, 



JOURNAL. 547 

with all its revenues, manse, &c. A clergyman was actually 
presented to a living, whose character was notoriously bad. 
Nobody attended service except a factor, or an agsnt of the 
person through whose influence he obtained the living. An 
appeal M'as made to Parliament, but that body confirmed 
the doings of the Court of Session, and declared that all 
their acts in like cases would be legal. "Livings" are 
property, legal possessions of those who hold them, whether 
the king, the lord, or any one else. They may be sold or 
given, just as may be any other property. Parliament could 
decide such a question as the Scottish parish appealed to 
them in no other way than as it was decided. Livings are 
established by acts of Parliament, and it would have been 
an abandonment, a violation of its own laws, had it decided 
otherwise ; nay, more, it would fatally have disturbed the 
tenure and rights pertaining to most, if not all the property 
of the Establishment. 

The Separation now declared itself. At first the condition 
of the seceding clergy was most wretched. All the property 
of the establishment went to that party which contended 
for the union of church and state. The other had nothing 
to begin with but what came in by way of subscriptions. 
It w^as found very difficult to get sites for churches. But 
worst of all, they were obliged to pay church taxes, for the 
support of that party which had all the church property in 
its hands. It was, then, not for change in doctrine, or dis- 
cipline, that this very remarkable revolution in Scotland 
was brought about. It was simply and wholly produced 
by an exercise of power, which the seceding party be- 
lieved unjust, and to which they would not submit. This 
party has been successful, so far as to form a strong body, 
with seven hundred churches, a highly cultivated and ear- 
nest clergy, and has means constantly increasing, to meet 
the heavy demands made upon it. There is a bravery, a 
confidence in the right of their cause, — and a perseverance 
in sustaining it, which every man w^ho hates oppression 



548 JOURNAL. 

must reverence. Few facts were more interesting to me 
than those which related to this separation from the nation- 
al kirk. The clergy were at once turned out from their 
manses, — upon mountain, valley, or moor, with families, 
furniture, all they possessed, uncertain where to get food, or 
shelter. To provide at once for such wide destitution, a 
Sustentation Fund was raised by subscription, and in time 
reached to a great sum. The amount was told me, but I 
fear to give it from memory, lest a charge of exaggeration 
should attach to the statement. So liberal has it been, that 
not only so many Churches have been built, but a University 
in Edinburgh has been founded, and is in successful opera- 
tion, for those who may prefer to get their education through 
their own church. To show how entire is the change, and 
to secure its advantages to all, wherever it is possible, a 
Free Kirk is built in close neighbourhood to an old one. 

I went, then, to hear to-day, a preacher of the Free 
Church, which its opponents believed would only attract 
the poor and the ignorant to its altars. I went with my 
friends early, but found the church full. Their pew was 
empty, and there we bestowed ourselves. I looked at the 
audience. I never saw better looking, or better dressed 
people. Crowds continued to come, till the utmost capacity 
of the church seemed more than satisfied. The time for 
the service approached, and a man came in from the rear of 
the church to the pulpit, or platform, bringing in the Bible 
and psalm book. Soon after came the clergyman. Doctor 
G. is tall, broad-shouldered, massive, but not gross. His 
hair is black, complexion dark, eyebrows projecting, sinking 
the eyes, — nose thin, long, — mouth wide, firm, — of re- 
fined expression. His dress was gown and bands, as the 
clergy wore with us in the olden time. His manner was, at 
first, abrupt, as if impulsive. It became calm, and in 
prayer, deep, solemn, earnest, confident. He seemed to me 
to have faith deep down in his nature, and believed he 
could do what he attempted. This conciousness of ability 



JOTJKNAL. 549 

in an orator constitutes his power. He need not show it, 
especially he need not make an effort to show it. He will 

fail of his office if he do. Dr. 's subject was, " The 

power of the favour of God." If possessed, the enemy 
could not prevail. It was here he declared himself All 
that the voice could do by variety, strength, power, — all 
that gesture could do in such an office, w^as done. The 
manner was eminently dramatic, and I heard tones, and saw 
action, that reminded me of Edmund Kean so strongly, 
that I thought I was in his presence. The same effect was 
produced upon a friend who was in the same pew with me. 
He told me that he was constantly reminded of Kean by 
the preacher, not that his voice, manner, action, or what not, 
was theatrical. No such thing. You would not for a 
moment have supposed yourself in a theatre, that you were 
before a show, — that you were witnesses of trick of any 
sort. You were in the presence of a man, — of an earnest 
man, — of a man who felt he had a work to do, and which 
he meant should be done as well as he could do it. You 
were with men and vv^omen who could understand, and obey 
the truth, coming fresh and full out of another heart. The 
preacher would, by illustration, in which he was happy, or 
by argument, in which he was profound, carry forward in 
varied language, manner, and tone, a passage, or a thought, 
which he was desirous to impress upon his auditory. The 
stillness now was profound, intense. He would finish, and 
pause, and at once a hum, a freer breath, was audible. It 
seemed that the breath had been held for a time, — not a 
sound, not a motion. But when that was finished which 
had, so to speak, wrapped them into itself, they came again 
into the open air, and you heard the short, deep-toned 
breathing. I would not be fanciful, but except at Brussels, 
where, in the Lace-makers room, I heard something of the 
same kind, I have met with no such effects before. I do 
not mean to analyze the sermon, but there were things in it 
which I should much like to give you. Dr. G. "uses 



550 JOURXAL. 

similitudes," and lie is "happy in illustration. He proposed 
his subject in a picture, and it was very well painted. He 
gave a description of what he had once witnessed, and 
which to him was an illustration of the power of prayer, 
and which seemed to be allied to the favour of God. He 
said he was once travelling, and was in the city of John 
Calvin, and was present at a scene which, though supersti- 
tious, impressed him very deeply. He was walking in the 
street about midnight. It was as still as if Death had his 
throne there. The darkness was lessened by a little light 
which the sinking moon shed upon the scene. He saw 
before him a woman dressed in white, approach a cross, and 
prostrating herself at its foot, embraced it, as if she would 
not, and could not, let it go, — and there he heard her pour 
out her prayer to God, and to His Son, nailed to that tree, 
as if life and immortality, — the present, and the " to 
come," were in visible presence before her, and as if by 
prayer, by love, by the " favour of God," she would resist 
the enemy, so that he could not triumph over her. I have, 
in a few words, told a story which was full of beauty and 
power, and which had its argument, and its embalmment, in 
many tears. The preacher had no notes. His method was 
perfectly simple, and his object alwa^'S before him. The 
result was connection, and order, and though a long dis- 
course, there was no sign that the people wearied of it. 
The church was badly ventilated, and the crowd great. 
Men and women stood through the whole long service, 
which began at eleven, and ended at one, and they stood 
just where they happened to stop after they had entered the 
church. I do not speak of doctrine. This, to me, was at 
times curious enough. Men might fall, — men did fall. 
The best did, — but they rose again. It was being cast 
down not destroyed. But, in another place, no matter how 
large was the good a man might do, — were it mountain 
high in elevation and grandeur, if put into one balance, and 
he should commit one sin only, and that so small that God 



JOURNAL. 551 

himself could hardly see it, that would weigh down, and 
obliterate, all the good of a whole life, — make him poor, 
and blind, and naked. It seemed to me that if this, with- 
out a figure, were true, that as the best must, and do fall, 
— the good seemed hardly worth doing, for the smallest 
wrong might, and would, destroy an infinite right. Why 
should not good be as immortal as evil? If evil, if sin be, 
as it is, according to Bishop Butler, not harmony with man's 
nature, but its violation, goodness is inseparabh from that 
nature, and evil or sin is its accident. The latter would 
seem to be the least likely to survive, and, as it seems to 
me, the whole idea of repentance, and its efi*ects, or natural 
consequences confirms this idea. But the preacher showed 
that he believed in original sin, and total depravity, so, that 
to me, he seemed to deny the doctrine of the " perseverance 
of the saints." Some children were baptized. And in the 
preacher's view of them, before the heart had conceived 
sin, — before the mind had been used in the production of 
depraved, impure thought, — or the voice had uttered a 
sinful word, — if all this had not already happened, which 
might be the case, — they were but newly born babes, 
remember, — he conjured, — he most solemnly directed 
these parents to see to it, that by example and by precept, 
they should prevent the growth of sin, — the development 
of the evil in them. With what earnestness, with what 
living eloquence, did this extraordinary man impress his 
vast auditory with the power of all he said. He, clearly, 
was filled with the love of truth, — had, as Locke some- 
where has it, " begun his search after truth, with the love 
of it," — and his people believed him. 

In the afternoon, after lunch, which is daily with us, I 
went with some friends, to the Queen's Drive. This is a 
road Nvhich her Majesty caused to be made round Arthur's 
Seat, a mountainous elevation of considerable extent, in the 
near suburbs of Edinburgh. The Drive is cut out of the 
rock itself, having on one side the rock, rising very high 



552 JOUKNAL. 

directly from it, and on the other a deep valley, with wall 
and emhankment for safety. This road was made by the 
Queen, a short time since, and to employ poor labourers 
who were suffering most severely from want of employment. 
A double good was thus done, — a temporary destitution 
was relieved, and a permanent and splendid accommodation 
and luxury afforded to the whole public. It was Sunday. 
I was not surprised to find so many equipages, and so many 
walkers, enjoying themselves, parents and children, on this 
noble road, and in the midst of such exquisite scenery. 
The whole city is before you ; and the wide Frith of Forth, 
like a sea, stretching beyond vision, was in its strong con- 
trast with mountain, and valley, and plain, completing a 
picture which you might go far to find equalled. What 
better use of royal power, — what better appropriation of a 
nation's property, than was this act of Queen Victoria. I 
thought of it in the Drive, — the Queen's Drive, and what 
better name can it bear? and I recur to it now to make 
renewed acknowledgments for so great a public blessing. 
This is but one act which distinguishes this reign. Others 
are elsewhere. In London, the new squares, and the wide 
avenues in the East of London, w^hich have replaced noi- 
some alley-ways, and pent-up passages, in which neither 
light nor air could find free way, we see new instances of 
the same consideration for public good, which distinguishes 
the reign of Queen Victoria. Among the most interesting 
observations of my long wanderings, I look back upon none 
with more pleasure, than the appropriations, by royalty, of 
public funds, for public health, and public recreation. 
Russia and France, — Paris and St. Petersburg, furnish 
like illustrations of the same, and are among the best argu- 
ments for the extension of the like everywhere. In America 
this work must be slow. Comparatively small expendi- 
tures, for anything beyond the exigencies of the moment, 
will always produce mach hesitation concerning appropria- 
tions for other than immediate public want. And when 



JOURNAL. 553 

popular favour is to be afFectsd by the same thing, and votes 
are to be the purchase of national or municipal economy, 
there will be little chance for expenditure beyond necessity. 
The contingencies of health and comfort may thus have small 
place in the decision of questions of great public concern, but 
which may involve increased taxation. In popular govern- 
ments are special causes of this. Among them is the 
demand, that individual rights and comfort should be as 
little as possible touched. In such, the strictly ornamental 
and healthful have little place ; and individual taste, means, 
and liberality, must settle the amount, and kind. 

Monday. — This was another of the pleasant days to me in 
Edinburgh. A dinner had been arranged at Prof. S.'s, and 
to this were invited all who had honoured me by invita- 
tions, and otherwise. It was grateful to meet again so many 
from whom I had received so much hospitality. The whole 
Avas arranged after the most hospitable manner possible, 
and was eminently successful. 

Tuesday. — This was my latest day in Edinburgh. How 
close was its resemblance to all which preceded it. It was 
a day of work. 1 was out with Prof. S. early in the 
morning, and home with him at his clinic, when were 
assembled more cases than on any other day, — said to be 
about ninety. I saw with him patients out of the city. 
Other cases of great interest came under my notice and 
examination in his private j^ractice, and of very distinguished 
individuals, — may I not mention the Duchess of Montrose ? 
— making this one of the most important days I had passed in 
Edinburgh. It closed at midnight. When we got home from 
the evening's engagements, we had tea, and went to bed. 

Wednesday. — At six, a. m., at breakfast with Prof. 
S., and at seven, on my way with him to the station of 
the train for Liverpool. My sole companion was Mrs. D., a 
lady who has written good books, and who, when she heard 
my name and relations, said she had seen some of the latter, 
an introduction which brought with it with much pleasure. 
47 



554 JOITHNAL. 

The Professor had introduced me to Mrs. D. He would 
not leave till the last bell, and then with the kindest wishes, 
bade me farewell. 

Such was my visit to Edinburgh. Nearly half a century 
ago I was a medical student there; and I have just been 
receiving its hospitalities, and professional teachings, as 
when I was first one of its inhabitants. Extremes were 
meeting in my long experiences of life, and when they met 
here in Edinburgh, I felt as in doubt to which I mosi nearly 
belonged. I trust I shall ever bear in equally grateful 
memory, the earliest and the last. 

I have just given you sketches of character, aiid hints at 
life, which, when passing before me, were of the deepest 
interest. I had been in the society of living men, — of 
men in whom the whole man was fully developed, — the 
moral, the intellectual and physical, and after a manner to 
produce a whole, which I have never met with before, and 
which I shall never forget. In my acknowledgments, at the 
beginning of this volume, I left some names unnoticed. It 
was to give them place, when speaking of what I received 
from them, and what I owe to them. To Professor Simpson 
I am under special obligations. He made me his guest. He 
introduced me to Professors Christison, Syme, Sharpey, and to 
many others, from whom I received the most grateful and 
important attentions. To each and to all of these I offer my 
sincerest thanks. I saw in them the friends and promoters 
of science and literature, in their highest interests ; and an 
intellectual vitality, which daily showed what true lives are. 
You felt assured that their labours would end only with life. 

With great pleasure I acknowledge the hospitalities of 

Mc Vicar, Esq., of Ardarroch, of Brown, Esq., of Pinkie 

House, and of my friend and host, of Carberry Hill. 

On our way to Liverpool, we came to Carlisle, that ancient 
city, which has not an unimportant relation to history. 
The train stopped here for some hours, and it was proposed 
to defer dinner till we reached Liverpool, and in the mean- 



JOURXAL. 555 

time to walk about the place. Our first object was the Ca- 
thedral, a fine old building, and promising to reward our 
enterprise by the architectural accomplishments of its ex- 
terior. But it was closed for repairs, — the workmen were 
absent, and we could only regret our failure to see what 
promised so fairly. 

In our wanderings, we came to a hill of some pretensions, 
and learned that on the top of it was a castle, or fortress. 
The day was of a character to satisfy the demands of the 
most fastidious pedestrian. The temperature was cool, — the 
sky was covered with high, thin, gray clouds, the very atmos- 
phere for distinct and distant vision. We slowly walked up 
the hill, and at top found ourselves upon a broad plain, or 
table-land, upon which the fortress is built. It was a time 
of universal peace. Everything here showed the gentle but 
sure power of the general repose. Cannon were lying at 
their huge lengths in every direction. Their carriages were 
under cover and care, for future use. Spears and pruning 
hooks had not replaced the engines of war. I w^as tired by 
the railway motion, and a long, and up-hill, weary walk. 
The empty embrasures were covered with a most inviting 
velvet-like greensw^ard. The air was exquisite, — and then 
the surrounding country seen from such a height, and through 
such an atmosphere, — everything invited to rest. So, on a 
commanding spot, and of such excellent accommodation, I 
quietly sat dawn, drew a long breath, and was as happy as 
a king. But the felicity was short. A tall young soldier 
in military undress, and of very pleasing countenance, had 
closely followed us in our examination of the fortress. He 
seemed to have nothing else to do, and to be pleased with 
his foreign company. My companions stopped with me 
near the embrasure selected for rest, and to look abroad upon 
the beautiful country around us. Our military attendant, 
or accompaniment, as we supposed, stepped towards me as 
soon as I took my seat, and said courteously, but distmctly 
- Sir, you cannot sit down here." Said I to him, what. 



556 JOURXAL. 

with a little surprise in the question. " You cannot sit 
down here," came again, with rather more emphasis, but 
pleasantly, as if he saw something ludicrous in my position, 
or was amused at the irrelevancy of my question. "It is in 
the orders of the day, given by the officer sitting there," — 
pointing to a small side-office not far off, — " that nobody 
should sit in the fortress." Said I, I am sitting here 
already, — I am weary with long travel, and a long, up-hill 
walk, and am lame, and none of the youngest ; but, rising, 
1 shall, I said, obey the order which it would be folly to 
resist, though the guns are all out of nse. But if you ever 
come to my country, which is three thousand miles off, and 
I should chance to see you as tired as I am now, I will 
provide 3^ou with chairs, couch, sofa, or what-not, — in the 
street, if occasion be, and you shall rest to your heart's con- 
tent. These people, thought I, must know my opinions 
concerning war and its preparations, and are doing all this 
simply to annoy me. He smiled again. I got up, and we 
w^alked on. He, how^ever, followed very closely. Vie came 
to an unusually long, outlandish cannon. It reminded me 
of some I had seen in the Kremlin, which had been captured 
in some Eastern war. We stoi)ped to examine it. The 
orderly watched us with more attention than before, and at 
length I turned to my companions and said, I wonder if our 
friend here supposes that I have a purj)ose to put this gun 
into my vest pocket. It is clear he thinks we have some 
design upon it, and the caution may be in the orders of the 
day. He was much amused at what was so very gravely 
uttered. The thought came that there vs^as some special 
interest in this ancient place of defence. Upon every 

Jutty, frieze, buttress, coigne of vantage, 

was printed, or painted rather, in large capitals, Victoria, or 
capital V.'s, — saying that it was the Queen's ; and I now 
recollected that in my tiresome threading of palace halls, 
whenever I sat in a royal chair, which I often did, the 



JOURNAL. 557 

palace showman came running to me, and with much less 
courtesy than the handsome young soldier, guide, or guard, 
had displayed, 

" pushed me from my stool." 

It was probably to the " courtesy of England," that I must 
ascribe my enforced but cheerful obedience to the " orders 
of the day," in the regal fortress of Carlisle. 

A Day in Manchester. — I reached Liverpool late 
Wednesday evening, — the engine having given out, — the 
second accident of the kind on the road in one day. Found 
myself at Lynn's, the Waterloo, and in which was my first 
English home. May last. Early next morning I was up, 
and by the first train was on my way to Manchester. I 
wonder when it will be breathing time with me. My visit 
to M, was to see Mr. Roberton, a distinguished surgeon, or 
general practitioner, and with whom I had for some time 
had literary intercourse, in exchanges of each other's publi- 
cations, as I had had with Prof. Simpson, of Edinburgh. I 
went to Manchester to see Dr. Clay, also. He is everywhere 
known for the extraordinary success with which he has done 
some of the most important operations in surgery. My 
reception was just as pleasant, and as pleasing, as it could be. 
" How long," said Mr. R., " do you stay } " Till the even- 
ing train. " Oh, no, that will not do, you must stay here 
all day and all night. Where is your luggage ? " I have 
not a particle of luggage. I am here for a call, and almost 
solely to see you. Do not trouble yourself about me at all. 
Go to work. Your carriage is at the door, and I will stay 
all day and all night. This was the dialogue precisely. I 
now delivered letters from Prof. Simpson to Dr. C. and Mr. 
E-., and went off to drive about Manchester. Returned. 
Dr. C. had called and appointed four to see me. So, having 
driven about with Mr. R., and dined early with him, off 
I drove to Dr. C.'s. He is a marked man in the profes- 
sion. Has done the operation of fifty-four times, 

47* 



558 JOUR-N^AL. 

with only eighteen failures. This is great success. I was 
exceedingly pleased with him, and with Mrs. C, who is 
traly a fine, well educated lady. I drove about Manchester 
with him till tea time. He took me to the libraries for the 
Mechanics, — and for the poor, — to the school or college 
for fitting boys for the highest. Nothing is paid here, — all 
are received. The only condition is a certain amount of 
preparatory study, as in our high schools. It is not a city 
institution, but founded by an individual, with a fund for its 
support, and a very fine building for the classes. There is 
another institution, a charity, for poor boys. In this a cer- 
tain number are boarded, clothed, and taught. The building 
is an ancient baronial place, and its interior is curious from 
the relics it possesses of an earlier age. The library is 
very large, and every arrangement made for easy reference 
to its books. 

You are not surprised at what has been done for the 
labouring classes here, when you learn the history of Man- 
chester. Lancashire, in which it and Liverpool are, contains 
two millions of people, M. and L. containing about four 
hundred thousand each. Liverpool is the great seaport of 
the kingdom. Its docks are the wonders of the commercial 
world. I drove by and through them nearly six miles, and 
did not see all, and immense new ones are now in construc- 
tion. Manchester is the great manufacturing metropolis of 
England ; and for England, is at work every day, occupying 
by far the greater part of the population of Lancashire. 
The city is full of warehouses, and factories. These M'are- 
houses are of enormous dimensions, and stand everywhere. 
They are loaded, crammed full of goods, and the mills are 
as much occupied as are the warehouses. I went to the 
Exchange. Tuesday is high 'change day here. Said Mr. 
R., " This immense building is too small for our business 
men. Three thousand are sometimes squeezed into it at 
once." I was made sensible of the consumption of coal by 
the amount of smoke. It was a foggy morning, and such 



JOUHNAL. 559 

was the amount of smoke that mixed with the fog, it was 
ahnost literally impossible to see your way at all You 
could see houses on each side, but not a step beyond. Such 
is this vast place of hand work, and machine work. You 
go into the mill where bobbins and cords are made, and all 
round you are little machines, like so many hands, at work, 
twirling round the spools, and making the cord without any 
sort of instruction. You take up the skirt of your coat lest 
it be taken in, and be carried off of your back and made 
into a cord before you dream of the transmutation. Truly, 
there is life in IMan Chester, and if much of it be sLill life, it 
is not without useful and important products. 

In just such a population is the demand greatest for 
intellectual, moral, and physical culture. And for these has 
Manchester wisely provided. I have spoken of libraries, 
readmg rooms, schools. I have visited them all. In one 
library, the books were estimated at sixty thousand. They 
are in two rooms, one below for reading ; one above for 
reference. I went into the lower room first. The tables 
were surrounded with readers, and copiers, — all work- 
ing men, — young men most, — it was at close of day. 
Perfect silence prevailed. Everything showed you that if 
hands worked outside, minds were working within. Nothing 
would more interest you than such a spectacle. Everybody 
may come without money, and without price, — and drink 
of the waters of life freely. Who does not honour a place 
which does so much for the highest interests ; and who does 
not feel that in such a work all interests are equally promo- 
ted. So much for intellectual culture. Physical and moral 
culture are provided for on a most magnificent and munifi- 
cent scale. It is by public baths, — vast parks, filled with 
trees, shrubs, flowers, walks, — and these in diff'ercnt places, 
that health and pleasure are provided for. Place a man 
within the reach of beauty, and order, and growth, and you 
minister without effort to his own growth, — his true good. 
You develope in him tastes, the gratification of which can only 



560 JOURNAL. 

ennoble him in whom it is declared, and human sympathy- 
secured in its widest expression. My visit to Manchester 
was a short one. I regret truly that it has not been longer. 
But the passage was engaged. The sailing day at hand, 
and I was obliged to leave many, many things unseen. My 
visit to Mr. R. and to his family was in the same spirit of 
hospitality, on the part of my host, as has met me wherever 
I have been. I saw more of his family than of him, for it 
was a busy day and night with him. But his family left me 
nothing to want. It was like one's own, — and my visit 
more like that of a returning friend, than that of a stranger. 
Satukday. Sept. 18. — Twelve, noon, the good steamer 
Canada, with one hundred and forty-two passengers, of 
which I was one ; and one hundred and seven crew, put to 
sea for America. 



TO THOSE FOR WHOM THIS 

JOURNAL 

WAS KEPT, 
IT IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 



APPENDIX 



Let ms give here a few facts in the puhlic life of Sir Robert 
Peel. 

Nothing escaped him which came at all within the scope 
of a statesman's regard, and which especially concerned wide 
interests. His Bill for an alteration in the law of "legal resi- 
dence," which allowed no other "residence" to a person who 
depended on public charity for his maintenance, than the place of 
his birth, had for its object an important change. By the old 
law, if a man left home, lived many years elsewhere, and became 
poor, he was carted about the country in his sickness and infirmity, 
till his residence could be discovered. Tliis same old English law 
still exists in this State of Massachusetts, and is in operation too. 
Mr. Peel's Bill provided that, if a person lives fii e years in a 
place, that shall settle his "residence;" and there, if it be 
needed, shall he find his support. Mr. Peel left the alterations 
in the Poor Laws of a preceding administration as he found 
them, especially that relating to out-door relief; and by which 
the existing law concernnig this was repealed, and the poor were 
required to enter the Unions or Workhouses. He did this to 
learn what change the poor-rate would undergo, — its amount 
before the change being about £8,000,000 a year; and what 
would be the effect upon industry, — it having before derived a 
part of its support from the poor-rate, as '• wages." 

Roads, highways, «fcc., received his care. These had before 
been managed by commission, it might be distant, and having do 
direct interest in what so nearly affected the convenience and com- 
fort of those living near such roads. Mr. Peel's Bill provides 
that their management shall devolve upon those Avho are near to, 
and can best attend to them. 

"Free trade" was the special object of Mr. Peel's interest. 
He looked to wide, and easy, human intercourse as the object 



562 APPENDIX. 

dearest and nearest to the highest civilization. He saw in 
industry a unit, and in its products the present and everlasting 
blessino-s of the race. He reo;arded commerce as a chartered 
libertine, and v^^ould give it to the free winds of heaven, to take 
man and his works everywhere, and for the widest individual. and 
general good. He began this great work of true reform. He 
showed what must be its benign influence, and so recommended it 
to the world . It does extend itself. It must extend itself. Ridi- 
cule, contempt, and the worst power in any State, — party, — 
cannot stop free trade in its onward career. There are men who 
perhaps may have to die before this work shall be consummated. 
But reform can wait. It has waited for generations to die, — 
for centuries to roll away ; but with what loving care has it borne 
in precious memory the great names of those who have loved 
whole states and ages better than themselves, and cheerfully sac- 
rificed the partial interests of the day, to the general happiness, 
— the best good of the world ! 

Mr. Peel has passed into history, and his everlasting record and 
honour are sure. — New and Old, p. 45, by W. C. 



NOTE 



Gentle Reader, — 

An old Gi-eek was reading a long dull book to a select auditory, and 
in the midst of their exhaustion found himself at the last page. Land ! 
cried he. We have travelled many thousand miles, but have at length 
got home. If you have had a tithe of the pleasure I have had, I have 
been "twice blessed." Slips of pen and type have produced some 
conflicts between singulars and plurals, together with bad spelling. I 
discovered them all, as doubtless you have, but not till it was too late 
to correct them. Disturb does not spell disturb, — wunbroken, more 
than spells unbroken, and patronage does not spell parentage, though 
both often express the same thing. By the time my book reaches its 
" seventieth thousand," all these and kindred errors shall be cor- 
rected.* In the meantime, for words, p. 498, 1. 8, please read works. 

The children of Marie Antoinette, I have said, were killed before 
their mother was murdered. This is a mistake. Her daughter, Marie 
Theresa Chai-lotte, lived, and married the Duke d'Angouleme. As to the 
Dauphin, the Delphin, or the Dolphin, much obscurity hung about his 
fate ; but we were lately told that the mystery is solved, — that he 
exists in the person of Mister Williams, somewhere in the far, very far 
West. We have, then, "a Bourbon amongst us," — a live Prince. 
The only Prince of America, of my acquaintance, was Prince Saunders, 



* I cannot refrain offering to you the following extracts from a quaint old Boston 
writer, which shows how utterly impossible it is to print a book without errors, — 
especially if printed out of the place in which the author lives, as Mather says. 

" Header, Carthagena was of the mind, that unto those TTiree Tilings w'r.ich the 
Ancients held Impossible, there should be added this Fourth, to find a Book Printed 
without Errata's. It seems, The Hands of Briareus, and the Eyes of ^/irgus, will 
not prevent them." 

" The Holy Bible it self, in some of its Editions hath been affronted, with scandalous 
Errors of the Press-work ; and in one of them, they so Puinted those "Words, 
Psal. 119. 161, " Printers have persecuted me." 

MATHEii';= JiTagnalia, London, 1702. 
Errata. 



564 NOTE. 

distinguislied by various learning, and by the society in which he 
moved. He was a frequent visitor at Carlton House, London, and was 
hand and glove with G. P. R., (not the novelist,) its distinguished 
head. He was accredited minister to at least one foreign court. If 
anybody should assume the name and title of Prince Saunders, — 
my friend, — I only hope he will be as honest, and as fair-minded a 
man. 

This volume contains descriptions of what the author saw, and nar- 
ratives of what he heard, with the thought suggested by both. He 
has alluded to the errors into which the sources of his knowledge refer- 
red to, may have led him. An English lady, a late traveller in America, 
says, that the streets of Boston are fumigated with hot vinegar to 
prevent the cholera. This sanitary arrangement could hardly have 
come -to that writer through sense of smell or sight. It was doubt- 
less heard, and with a loving Pickwickian fidelity at once noted down. 
I have said that the Paris churches are crowded on Sundays. It should 
have been added, when inusic is the attraction- The Alien Office was 
in Crown Court, Westminster, not Soho. The mistake is my own. I 
have made to you my apologies. Gentle Reader, and now most respect- 
fully, and kindly, make my bow. 



1-1897. 



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